Peter Parker Prompts
by EmilyF.6
Summary: A series of unrelated one-shots about Peter Parker based on prompts sent to me on Tumblr or in comments. (Or that I stumble upon somewhere else.)
1. The Rules

**Prompt: An injured Peter goes to the tower to ask Mr. Stark for help only to find the other Avengers**

Mr. Stark had lots of rules, and Peter liked to think that he'd finally memorized them all. He had to eat enough to keep from passing out, which meant carrying lots of granola bars. He had to abstain from messing with Karen's protocols that were 'designed to keep you safe, Peter, for the love of god!' He had to keep his grades up and actually stay in school the full 7 hours and attend all of his classes or risk a lecture about 'not being able to get into MIT' to which he'd typically respond 'who says I want to go to MIT anyway' which led to 'bite your tongue, Parker.'

This conversation was usually followed by a cheeky grin from Peter after which Mr. Stark's face would soften from his teasing glare to a real smile, and he'd reach out and pat Peter on the shoulder or ruffle his hair, something like affection in his eyes.

There were rules for the lab and rules for the kitchen (Peter was no longer allowed to use the waffle iron unsupervised.). But the most important rules, according to Mr. Stark, were that he always had to tell Tony if he was seriously injured and to always call for help if he needed it. In Peter's opinion, these were somewhat subjective. Who could say was 'seriously injured' meant? And when did he really 'need' help?

He was sure Mr. Stark had a pretty sure definition of both of these things, but Peter certainly wasn't about to ask for it. Instead, he tried to be careful. Tried to keep bruising and other injuries to a minimum. And overall, it worked out pretty well. Mr. Stark kept tabs on him through Karen, but he tried his best not to give the man a reason to worry. Or to call his aunt, which Mr. Stark had proven willing to do in the past when he'd been shot and had decided to try and dig the bullet out himself. In his bathroom. Which was where May had found him.

He'd promised never to do it again.

Most of what Peter found himself dealing with as Spiderman wasn't that big of a deal. A few attempted muggings, lost pets, grand theft bicycles…he was looking out for the little guy, after all. But then, through a series of events he would later have difficulty remembering thanks to the concussion, he found himself in a shady part of town by the docks, crouching in the shadows and looking for a man named Tombstone.

He'd gotten the basic rundown. Mutant (or enhanced…whatever, the terminology wasn't particularly important to Peter) drug dealer and possible hitman. History of instability and possible murder. More than willing to throw people out of windows. Since being released from prison, he'd been laying low, but Peter had heard his name mentioned more than once on the streets, and so he'd decided to check it out. Do some quiet recon and come back later, maybe with Iron Man. And the other Avengers. But then he'd knocked over a can filled with metal tools, sending it clattering to the ground.

Turns out the guy had a sledgehammer and he wasn't afraid to use it.

At first, Peter had been holding his own. But then Tombstone had gotten in a lucky hit. Or…maybe two. And in the end, Peter had managed to web one of his legs to the ground for long enough to swing away. Okay, limp away. He was about eighty percent sure his leg was broken, but he couldn't focus for long enough to figure it out.

No…scratch that, he thought as he gripped a web for dear life, every movement again on his left leg. He knew. He knew for sure that it was broken. Gritting his teeth and fighting back tears, he tried to figure out what to do. He needed help, that much was certain as he switched arms and had to bite back a scream.

Mr. Stark. He needed Mr. Stark.

"Karen?" He asked, in too much pain to care that his voice was choked with tears. "Call…call Mr. Stark….please." He practically begged

"I…sor…damage…".

"Karen?"

The only thing he could hear was a soft static and he could have cried…he did cry. But he needed help and his head was throbbing and there was something sticky in his hair but his mask was in the way so he wasn't sure what. Fighting back a sob, then giving up and letting it out anyway, he switched arms again and clenched his jaw as hard as he could to keep the scream in.

He needed Mr. Stark.

He was miles from the tower. As he swung in that direction, it seemed that the pain in his leg only got worse…but he had to get to Mr. Stark. He had to get help. It was a rule. Call for help if you need it. But he couldn't call for help, so he would have to go find the help himself.

His arms were giving out by the time the tower was in sight, the static in his ears never stopping. No… not static. More like roaring. There was a roaring in his ears and his leg hurt so bad that he could think of nothing else, but he had to get to Mr. Stark. He needed help. It was a rule…he has to ask for help when he needed it and suddenly that idea didn't seem quite so dumb as it had before.

His vision was going dark as he shot another web, trying to land only on his left leg and hop when he crumpled on the landing pad of the tower. He needed to get out of his suit…if people saw him it would be bad. It was a secret. That was the only thing he could really remember….his leg hurt and his suit was a secret and his whole body ached and…and he needed to get the suit off.

Peter pressed the spider on his chest and let the suit fall away, biting back a scream when it got caught on his leg. Somehow, he managed to pull himself upright, sticking his hand to something…maybe the railing, and he yanked the mask off, leaving both in a heap as he half-hopped his way forward. It hurt. Every movement hurt. In jeans and a t-shirt, he hobbled forward, almost making it to the door to the tower's main floor when everything went black.

The world came back into sharp focus abruptly, and he was yanked from the sweet darkness where nothing hurt when someone shifted him. He didn't recognize the scream that was ripped from his throat, but he did recognize the person kneeling over him.

"Peter? Kid? Are you with me? Can you hear me?"

"Rho…Rhodey…" He sobbed, not daring to open his eyes. Not when his leg hurt this much and with the world already spinning so fast. He thought that if he saw how quickly everything was spinning, he might throw up. Hell, he might throw up anyway, he thought, as a hand that must have belonged to James Rhodes touched his shoulder.

"Yeah, kiddo. Right here. You're okay."

"Who the hell is that?"

"Is that a kid?"

"Rhodey, what's going on?"

Other voices were there…and they were too loud. So loud. He couldn't stand it! Throwing his head back and wincing at the feel of the concrete against his tender skull, he tried to focus on the hand on his shoulder and the tears falling down his cheeks…anything but the loud voices accosting him. "Rhodey…hurts…Tony?" He asked, hoping that made some sense, barely aware of his own words.

"I know, Pete. I know it hurts. Just a minute. Just…just hold on."

A hand touched his leg again and this time the scream was louder, his hands flying up to shove whoever had touched him away.

"Back off!" Rhodey snapped, and Peter wondered if they were in trouble…if there were bad guys around. Were there bad guys? Where were they? How had Peter gotten here?

"Is he hurt?" That voice was familiar. They all were, come to think of it, but this one…this one was more familiar. Did he know them? Or…or were they from his school?

"His damn leg's broken! Now stop touching him!"

"Here," someone else urged, and a finger tapped his cheek. "You said his name's Peter?" There was a hum or something…and then the man was talking again. "Peter? Open your eyes. Come on, buddy."

At the prompting, Peter did, then cried out when a light was shone in them. But a hand on his face tapped a pattern he couldn't discern on his cheek once more.

"Peter? Stay awake. You have to stay awake, okay? Can you tell me what happened?"

That man…he was so familiar…and then it clicked. Falcon. No…no, that was his made-up name. Sam. Sam Wilson. "You…didn't think you…you would be…'cause you…" Peter slurred, trying and failing to get to a point. He was so tired. But the finger on his cheek was insistent.

"Nope. No sleeping. We need pain meds for him before we move him. Who is he, Jim?"

"Peter. He's…he's Tony's…"

"Tony?" Peter asked then, clinging to that name. He needed Tony. Tony had to come and help him because he'd done his best to follow the rules and he needed help! "Tony…need…Tony!" He begged.

"Tony's coming, Pete. Steve, get me some of your pain meds. Now!"

"But…if he's…."

"He's enhanced, just go!" Rhodey's hand squeezed Peter's shoulder. "Pete? You with us?"

"Rho…where's…where's…"

"Tony's on his way. Hey….Pete!"

Peter blinked. Had he fallen asleep? Opening his eyes once more, he found Rhodey and Sam Wilson kneeling over him…but no Mr. Stark. Or…or had he said Tony before? What did he call him?

"Peter? What happened?" Rhodey asked, sounding like he'd asked before, his voice tinged with frustration and something desperate. Afraid.

What had happened? Peter searched his fuzzy memory, barely coming up with more than a few blurry details. But he did his best, shivering on the concrete. He wasn't cold…was he? Either way, he couldn't stop shaking, and then something was being draped over him. A woman was there…Natasha Romanoff. Black Widow, his brain supplied.

"Peter? Peter!" The hand on his shoulder shook him and Peter tried to stop the cry, the movement shaking his whole body along with his leg which felt like it was on fire. Surely nothing could hurt that badly if it wasn't on fire!

"Rhodey?" He asked, begging…begging for it to stop hurting…for Rhodey to help…for Mr. Stark to come and help him.

"Buddy, you have to stay awake. Just for a little longer."

"Hurts…please…please…"

"I know. I know it hurts. I'm right here, kiddo." A hand slipped into his and he didn't know if it was Rhodey's or Sam's but either way, he did his best not to squeeze too hard. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I…I was… " He started, panting through the pain that ebbed and flowed, startling him with how unbearable it could be one minute before receding enough for him to breathe through it the next. "Tombstone." He managed.

"Tombstone? The drug dealer?" Natasha chimed in for the first time, moving closer so that he could see her over Rhodey's shoulder. Something cool touched his head then, and he moved his eyes just enough to see another woman beside him, this one with brilliant red hair. Witch. Red…red witch? Something…his brain was mush and everything hurt and Natasha had asked him a question.

"He..he had…sledgehammer…" Peter gritted his teeth when the pain rose once more and there was a sharp intake of breath beside him before he suddenly remembered that someone was holding his hand. He let go, forcing his fingers to release before clenching his hand into a fist and clenching his jaw so tightly that he thought his teeth might break.

"Here!" The voice from his school cried.

"Took you long enough." That was Rhodey, and the next thing he knew, something was poking him in the arm….and then cool liquid raced through his body, making every muscle relax at once. "There you go, Pete…you're okay. Is that better?"

"Uh-huh." He managed, tongue heavy and useless.

"Steve, can you pick him up? Carefully…let's get him down to the medbay."

The world was dark, but he could feel arms lifting him, and he thought that it should hurt his leg more but honestly, it was just a dull ache…he could live with a dull ache. Right? He could survive that. He thought he heard more voices through the darkness. They were hard to make out though, as if he was underwater.

"…Tony's kid?" He wasn't sure if that was the full sentence but it was said with an air of disbelief.

"He's…complicated…Tony will…"

He sank for a long time…seemed to swim in the darkness…to float. He didn't fight it. Didn't want to. The darkness was warm and comfortable and safe. But then there was another voice that pulled him back to the surface.

"What the hell happened to him?"

"He said it was Tombstone," Rhodey answered.

"Tombstone? What the fuck was he doing trying to take on Tombstone?" Mr. Stark demanded, his voice frantic. Why was Mr. Stark upset?

"I found his suit on the balcony. The AI was damaged but it looks like, from the footage I was able to get, he was just staking out the place. But then he got caught and…Tombstone went after him with a couple of other guys. He barely got away."

"I'm going to kill him." There was a heavy silence and then Mr. Stark exploded. "Tombstone! Not Peter! Don't give me that look."

"He came here looking for you. The audio from his suit was still intact, even after the sledgehammer to the head that could have killed him. He kept muttering your name…asking Karen to call you. Kept saying something about the rules…asking you to help him."

There was another heavy silence but Peter couldn't stand it. He needed to know if this was real or if it was a dream. "Mr. Stark?" He asked, the words struggling to escape his heavy mouth.

"Hey, Pete." The man's voice changed, and then a hand was holding his. "I'm right here, buddy."

He forced his eyes open, and there he was…Mr. Stark. The man placed a hand on his cheek, a thumb tracing under his eye…the skin was tender, so Peter figured he must have a bruise there. Actually…his whole body was tender. "You said…you said that if I got hurt I had to…to get help…" He murmured.

"I know. You did great, Pete." Mr. Stark's thumb rubbed over the back of his knuckles. "I'm going to fix your suit, okay? Make sure you can always call for help if you need it."

"What…what about Tombstone? He's…drug dealer he…"

"I know all about him. Don't worry. Steve and Bucky are off to take care of it."

"Bucky…thought he was…Winter…"

"Don't worry about that right now, Pete. You just rest, okay?"

Peter blinked at him, trying to figure out what that meant before it clicked. Rest. He could do that. "Got help…" He reminded the man, not wanting a lecture later. "Couldn't call…so…"

"I know, buddy. I know. You did good." He said again, squeezing his hand. "How's your leg feel?"

"Can't…feel it…"

"Good," Mr. Stark said with a chuckle. "That's good. We'll talk when you wake up again, okay?"

"Mkay…thanks…Mr. Stark. For coming…"

"Any time, kiddo."

**Thank you for reading!**


	2. Who Spiked the Eggnog?

**Prompt: Christmas Prompt "Who spiked the eggnog!"**

Peter couldn't quite believe that he was here…all his life, it felt like, he had been watching the Stark Tower Christmas Extravaganza (that's what he called it in his head) on TV. He and his uncle would always sit in front of the TV on the first Saturday in December and watch as Tony Stark hit the button to light up his Tower. More and more extravagant light displays all set to music were televised every year, with Iron Man being incorporated after Mr. Stark returned from Afghanistan a superhero. Every year they would drink hot chocolate and watch the light display and then watch Mr. Stark hand a check over to a charity and hand out gifts for kids. Later, he was joined by some of the other Avengers and Miss Potts and Colonel Rhodes and still, Peter and Ben would watch it all on TV. As the evening progressed, Peter would slump further and further into the sofa, his head dropping onto Ben's shoulder, eventually falling asleep to the sound of the soft Christmas music playing in the background on the TV.

And now, Peter thought, I'm a part of it. He wondered briefly what Ben would think as he handed a frozen turkey to a woman who thanked him profusely in a thick accent. He answered in Spanish, assuring her it was no problem, and wishing her a Merry Christmas. The heater in his suit was on low, keeping him from feeling the steadily dropping temperatures. It was nearly 8pm, and the sun was long gone. Lazy snowflakes drifted from the sky, and Peter pulled another frozen turkey from the box. There had started with almost two hundred boxes filled with these turkeys, and his was the second to last addition to be placed in the box that the families all slid down the table. On his left, Colonel Rhodes placed canned goods into the boxes, and on his right, Miss Potts finished off the boxes with packages of ready to bake dinner rolls.

Beyond Colonel Rhodes, he could see Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes both placing their own part of a Christmas dinner into a box, and on the other side of the huge courtyard lit up by Christmas decorations and floodlights, Steve Rogers and Mr. Stark handed out superhero themed toys, from action figures to stuffed animals, to children bundled in the new coats and hats and mittens they'd been given at the beginning of the evening when the tower's light show had begun. The first floor of the tower was open, and free dinner was being served to the families who had come from the homeless shelter, which was the recipient of Mr. Stark's Christmas check, with Thor and Doctor Banner serving the food.

All in all, it was a pretty incredible event. Peter couldn't believe he was a part of it…couldn't believe he'd been invited. Little kids kept pointing at him and jumping up and down in excitement, almost like they thought he was a real superhero. It was silly, he knew. He was nowhere near the level of the others…most of the time, he was swinging around Queens and saving cats from trees or giving directions to lost tourists, but still, a few people asked for pictures with him, and he obligingly leaned over the table, giving a cheery thumbs up or peace sign as the families took selfies with him.

They didn't finish up until almost eleven, and a group of people descended to clean up while the Avengers all headed inside. Apparently the event that Peter had seen on TV was only the beginning. Afterward, Mr. Stark had told him, the Avengers would all head inside and have their own party, complete with eggnog and a turkey dinner, lots of cake and cookies and Christmas-themed donuts, and presents. Peter had protested, telling Mr. Stark that he hadn't gotten anyone anything and had no idea what to get the Avengers, but Mr. Stark had just chuckled over the phone.

"Don't worry about that, Underoos. Just bring yourself, your suit, and some normal clothes to change into."

And so he had, his other clothes stored in a bag in a guest room of the tower that was filled with enough spiders to make Peter think that Mr. Stark had had him in mind when he'd decorated it. The bedspread had his logo in the middle, as did both pillows, and on the dresser were an assortment of plastic spiders that were so lifelike that they made Peter shudder. He didn't have the heart to tell Mr. Stark that they freaked him out, though, so he always slid them off the desk and into the top drawer when he stayed over, then replaced them before he left. When he'd arrived that afternoon to change into his suit, they were all wearing tiny Santa hats, so he'd decided to leave them out.

As the others headed for the tower, Peter moved to the center of the courtyard, staring up at the lights that continued to move and swirl in patterns, different sections lighting as different parts of 'Carol of the Bells' played on a speaker. Standing alone in the cold, he stared up at the tower, craning his neck so he could see the reindeer at the very top, the sleigh floating in midair behind. It wasn't long before tears filled his eyes and he crossed his arms over his chest, glad for the mask.

"You would have loved this." He whispered, closing his eyes and picturing his uncle in as much detail as he could…the way he'd smelled and the way his strong hands would rub Peter's back. How the buttons of his dress uniform would press into Peter's cheek and how he would grin when Peter would walk into the kitchen on Saturday mornings, flipping pancakes that he would add extra chocolate chips to when May wasn't looking. How he would kiss the side of Peter's head or teasingly pinch his nose….how he would wrap an arm around Peter's shoulders as they watched the Christmas light show at the tower on TV.

Another arm wrapped around his shoulders and Peter jumped as he was torn from his thoughts. "What do you think, Spidey? Does it live up to the hype?" Mr. Stark asked, a grin in his voice. Peter opened his eyes and stared up at the tower.

"Yeah," Peter told him, wincing when the tears were obvious in his voice. The man beside him paused a little, his hand squeezing a question on his shoulder. "Ben and I…we watched it on TV every year."

"Really?" He asked, voice more gentle now, but still pleasant. All around them, people were cleaning up, picking up bits of trash and moving empty boxes to recycling. "What did he think?"

"He thought you were a good man to do all this."

Mr. Stark went quiet beside him, his hand squeezing Peter's shoulder once more, and when he finally spoke, his voice was almost hopeful. Almost afraid. "Really?"

"Yeah."

The man took a moment, then sniffed a little, pulling his glasses off of his nose and putting them in his shirt pocket. "He raised a really good kid. The best kid." He told Peter softly, and Peter rested his head on the man's shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment, just trying to take it in…to keep the tears at bay. Mr. Stark gave him that time, then gave him a quick squeeze. "You want to head inside? Get something to eat?"

Peter nodded, and Mr. Stark, arm still around Peter's shoulders, led him toward the building as the music played in the background. As they entered the elevator, Peter leaned against the wall, finally pulling off his mask and wiping at his face a little, hoping his eyes weren't red. The man beside him ruffled his hair, shooting him a quick, encouraging smile before the doors opened and they were deposited on the main floor where the Christmas tree was set up in the corner, a mountain of presents underneath it. The dining room table was set, covered in so much food that Peter wondered if it might collapse underneath it, and the Avengers all milled about, coats discarded in the corner. Mr. Stark headed for the table, grabbing a cup and spooning something into it.

"Go get changed, kiddo, and then we'll have some dinner."

Peter nodded, waving quickly to Miss Potts who smiled at him as she joined Mr. Stark by the drinks table. He was hurrying toward his room when he heard Mr. Stark choke a little. "Alright, who spiked the eggnog?"

Waves of laughter hit Peter as he paused outside of the guest room with a spider on the door, closing his eyes once more to take it all in, a smile on his face, forehead pressed to the door. "I leave you people alone for ten minutes…"

In his mind, he could picture his uncle leaning against the door next to him, chuckling as he listened to the Avengers bicker in the other room.

"I love you," Peter whispered, believing in some small part of him that his uncle could hear him…that his uncle knew.

"I love you too, Pete." The words were in his own mind, of course, but in another way, they were his uncle's…his uncle who would be so happy for him right now. So, taking a deep breath and feeling that love for a moment, he opened his eyes, slipping into the spider-themed room to change so that he could join the Avengers for dinner.


	3. Jealousy

**Prompt: Morgan is jealous of Peter**

Morgan doesn't care about Peter. Not at first. All she cares about is that her daddy went somewhere with those people who had come and visit and now he's in a hospital bed covered in bandages missing an arm and she's so scared…and for a long time, he doesn't wake up.

When he does, he blinks at her for a moment, then holds out his arm, and she crawls from her mom's lap, sobbing into his neck as he holds her. "It's okay. It's okay, baby. I'm here. I'm okay."

Her mommy is crying too and for a while, they all just sit together. He's been asleep for two whole days and all she wants is for him to hold her. Forever. And he seems to be fine with that too. When her mommy starts to pull her away, she shakes her head and cries and grips her father as tightly as she can, not wanting to hurt him but too terrified to leave.

"Morguna…." He murmurs after a moment. "Hey…look at me." She does, still not letting go. "I'm okay. I promise. I know this is scary, but I'm okay. It's all over now, I promise. Everything is okay now."

She hears him ask about Peter a few minutes later…she's almost asleep against his chest, but she still hears him. "Where's Pete?" He sounds worried, and immediately she's scared again…but she doesn't know anyone named Pete. Is he going to leave her? Is he going away again to find someone named Pete?

"He and May were staying at a displacement shelter until Happy picked them up and took them to the tower." Her mom tells him. "He wanted to visit, but he was afraid of imposing.

Her dad laughs but it sounds sad. "Think Happy can bring him over?"

"Of course."

Morgan is leaning against his side a few hours later, watching cartoons on her dad's tablet and eating a snack when there is a soft knock at the door. Her father starts to sit up, and she turns to find a man in the doorway. He is pale, and he looks sick. There are bruises on his face and he looks so afraid…but when he sees her dad, he smiles, and before she knows it, her mom has picked her up and is holding her while the man leans over, hugging her dad for a long time.

And that's when she feels it. A hot flash of jealousy. She wants to be held by her dad. He's crying and hugging the man and pressing a hand to the back of his head and kissing his hair…he's saying that he loves him so much and asking if he's okay and Morgan turns her face away, tears filling her eyes.

"Mr. Stark…I…I thought…"

"I'm okay, Pete. It's alright."

"Your arm…"

"Never liked that one much anyway."

That's how her daddy is supposed to talk to her. Not him. Not this man she doesn't know. After a moment, he pulls away, but her dad keeps a hand on his cheek, looking at him like he loves him…like he looks at her. And she hates it.

"I never…I never thought I'd get to see you again."

"I'm sorry…."

"Don't. This wasn't your fault. No way."

"If I'd gotten the gauntlet off of him…"

"Stop." Her daddy orders softly, a thumb rubbing over his cheek. "I don't care. None of it. I just… I love you, kid. I'm so…Pete…I had to get you back. I love you so much." And he hugs him again.

That's when Morgan gets it. Her daddy is hurt because of Peter. She turns her face into her mom's shoulder She hates him.

"I'm sorry…hi, Miss Potts."

"Hi, Peter." Her mom reaches out and touches the hand that Peter holds out to her. "It's actually Mrs. Stark now, but I wish you'd just call me Pepper."

"Right…sorry." The man says sheepishly. "Hi, Pepper."

"And this is Morgan." Her mom introduces. And Morgan knows that she's supposed to say hi and that she should wave or something, but she hates him and she just wants her daddy and she wants him to leave. So she's silent.

"Morgan?" Her dad asks after a minute, prompting. She turns to glare at Peter and realizes that he isn't old like her dad or the other people that had visited. He looks younger than that…but still practically a grown-up. His eyes are red-rimmed but he's smiling at her and she hates him no matter how happy he is to see her.

"Hi, Morgan. It's nice to meet you. I'm Peter."

The words are out before she can think about them. "It's your fault my daddy's hurt."

The reaction of her parents is immediate. "Morgan!" Her mom cries, voice sharp, and she immediately starts crying. Her father's jaw drops, but then his eyes are on Peter, and it's his reaction that makes her feel the worst. Peter has gone pale, mouth open, eyes huge, and he's backing away from her, hands shaking. "Peter…" Her mom starts, but he shakes his head.

"I…I'm sorry I…"

"Peter…" Her father begs, reaching out his good arm, but he can't get out of bed.

"No she…she's…I'm so sorry…I…"

And then he runs, slipping past her and her mom and out the door…and Morgan should be happy. She should be glad that he's gone, but she's crying too hard to feel any of it.

"Here." Her mom murmurs, placing her on her dad's bed. "I'm going to find him."

Her dad pulls her close with his one good arm, rocking her until she can stop crying, and then he pulls away a little, face solemn and sad. She's sure he's going to be angry…but she doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know how to fix any of this when something so awful happened to her father and she just doesn't understand.

"Do you know what happened?" He asks softly, not sounding mad. She shakes her head, wiping her face with her fist. He brings his hand up, wiping her tears gently with his thumb. "Do you know that I used to be Iron Man?" She nods. "Well…before you were born, there was a bad guy. A really big, mean bad guy. And I tried to stop him from hurting people with some other superheroes." She nods again. She knows that her daddy had a big important job before she was born, but nothing else. "But I couldn't stop him. He won."

"The bad guy won." She whispers.

"Yeah. The bad guy won. And…and he made a lot of people disappear."

"Like a magic trick?"

"Yeah. But a really bad one. And I didn't know how to make them come back. Some of the people were my friends. And one of them was my…was Peter. He was a superhero too."

She pauses at that, eyes widening. "He was a superhero?"

"He was Spiderman, and he helped me a lot." He swallows. "I never wanted to talk about him before because…because it made me sad." Her father tells her, more serious than she's ever seen him, and she realizes that he's talking to her like she's a grown-up. It makes her feel important…makes her feel like a big girl. But she also hates that he's so sad. "I missed him. He was…he was like my son."

She frowns at that. "So…is he my brother?"

He gives a weak smile. "Yeah. He sort of it. You know how Uncle Rhodey is like my brother, but we're not really related?" She nods. "Well, Peter is like that."

"Oh." She whispers, eyes dropping. She had hurt her brother's feelings. He'd been so sad because of what she'd said…he'd started crying. "I didn't mean to make him cry…I didn't know I could make a grown-up cry." She admits softly.

"Peter isn't a grown-up. He's only sixteen." Her father tells her. "Still a kid. And…it's really scary for him. He…he was scared. When the bag guy made him disappear." She thinks her father might cry then, and she wraps her fingers around his wrist. "I…I want you to meet him. I think he'll be a really good big brother."

She nods, ashamed of herself for being mean but not knowing how to say it. Instead, she sniffs a little. "I was scared…when you wouldn't wake up."

"I know, baby." He murmurs, leaning in and kissing her cheek. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry you were scared. But the bad guy is gone now." He wipes her cheek again. "We're all safe."

She is quiet for a moment as she tries to figure it all out…as she tries to understand these horribly adult things. Finally, she meets his eyes. "Can I say sorry?"

He smiles, nodding. "Yeah. I think that's a good idea."

The second time Peter comes into the room, he looks worse. Still pale. Still sick looking. But his eyes are even redder and he gives the room a weak, sheepish smile. "I think I'd better go…" But before he can finish, Morgan hops off the bed and hurries over, throwing her arms around his waist and pressing her head against his stomach.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you sad. I didn't know you were my brother."

The room goes silent, and she wonders if she's done something wrong, but then a hand lands on her shoulder, another hugging her back just a little. She looks up at him then, and he's giving her a confused smile. "Your…your brother?" He asks, like he's making sure. She nods.

"Yeah. My big brother. Right?" She asks, suddenly unsure. He kneels down then so they're face to face, face going soft, and he kind of looks like her dad then. Like he's made a decision. Like he loves her.

"Right." He agrees, and she hugs him again, this time resting her head on his shoulder. Behind her, their dad sniffs, and she glances around to see her mom holding his hand, the two of them watching her and Peter with looks she doesn't understand. Grown-ups are hard to understand sometimes…but she thinks that her new big brother might be able to help her figure them out.


	4. Thanksgiving

**Prompt: Peter invites Tony over for Thanksgiving**

Peter stretched out in bed, groaning in yawning as the sun came in through his bedroom window. For a moment, he felt a jolt of worry…was he late? He felt so well rested…he must be late for something. But then he remembered. Thanksgiving. A blessed day off in the middle of his week during which he could actually sleep in. Then back to school for one day, and he'd have another two days off! Plus, the food was pretty good. All in all, Thanksgiving was a holiday he didn't love, but it was nice to get a day off. That night, May would go shopping for Christmas presents after dinner, and he and Ben…

He shook his head, swallowing hard and closing his eyes. No. No…he hadn't had a slip up like that in a long time. May would go shopping with her friends. He would curl up with a blanket and watch a funny TV show until he was sleepy.

He and Ben would always watch a Christmas movie…they had a whole bunch of them on DVD's in the cabinet that he hadn't touched since his uncle had died. His uncle had always said that as soon as Thanksgiving was over, it was time for Christmas movies, despite the fact that until marrying May, he hadn't really celebrated Christmas. But he'd always loved Christmas movies. His favorite was It's A Wonderful Life, and every year between Thanksgiving, they would watch it.

Peter hadn't watched a Christmas movie since.

But today wasn't about that, Peter reminded himself with a shake of his head, pushing the blankets off of himself and stretching. It was only 9:30, so he had plenty of time to execute the plan. Still in his pajamas, he snuck into the kitchen practically on tiptoe, not wanting to wake May. She'd worked late the night before, not coming home until after he'd gotten home from patrols, and since she'd be out late that night, he wanted to be quiet.

The turkey wasn't too big…but plenty big enough for three people (one of whom was enhanced) plus leftovers. There was a full sack of potatoes on the cabinet for him to peel, and sweet potatoes just waiting to be made into a casserole. Green beans and cranberry sauce were ready to be poured out of cans and prepared, and he had everything he needed to homemade stuffing on the kitchen table.

He'd come up with the plan the week before, and he really hoped it worked. Miss Potts was on a business trip in Wakanda…something about combining their technology, and would be gone all week. And Mr. Stark hadn't said anything about it…hadn't seemed to mind. And sure, there were tons of people that didn't celebrate Thanksgiving, but…but Peter didn't want his boss and mentor and…and father-figure to be alone on the holiday. So he'd come up with the plan.

Peter was the cook of the family. Well…Ben had been the cook, and he'd taught Peter everything he could. So although Peter didn't do a ton of cooking, he knew how to whip up a mean Thanksgiving. And after the year before, where he'd done it all on his own for the first time, he felt like he had it down to a science. He and May had gone to the store a few days ago to get everything, and as always, she promised to stay of the kitchen to let him work. And work he did.

At some point, May woke and gave him a kiss on the temple, murmuring 'happy Thanksgiving' before grabbing a cup of coffee and heading to the living room where she curled up with a book she'd been meaning to read, a blanket wrapped around her. On the TV they were getting ready for the big parade. Peter had never been…but he and Ben had watched it on TV sometimes. He shook that thought off, grabbing a pair of earbuds and sticking them in his ear as he peeled the mountain of potatoes, listening to a podcast as he worked. He didn't want to hear the parade.

As he waited for some of the food to cook or took breaks, he read his own book, or worked on homework, or texted Ned who was headed out of state to spend Thanksgiving with his whole extended family. He texted MJ too. Her family didn't celebrate at all…instead, her and her mom spent the day together. They usually took some kind of road trip, but since her mom was sick, he wasn't sure what they'd do. He didn't ask. It wasn't something he knew how to ask about.

He watched Youtube videos and changed his phone's background and snacked on chips and dry cereal and an apple, then pulled out ingredients for punch. He didn't mind cooking dinner. He had managed not to think too much about his uncle or the times they'd spent cooking together. Christmas would be harder…no…tonight, he wanted to focus on Mr. Stark.

The plan was kind of rough…honest, it just consisted of making dinner and then asking him to come over. It wasn't exactly complicated. But Peter hadn't known what else to do. He had asked May, and she'd given him one of her soft smiles, assuring him that of course he could invite Tony to dinner. That's what she called him now…they had each other's phone numbers. Ever since Homecoming, Mr. Stark had been more involved in his life. But would he want to have Thanksgiving with them?

Peter tried to shake off his insecurity. What if Mr. Stark had plans, though? What if he was going to a fancy dinner or something? It wasn't like Peter knew his schedule? It would still be okay, of course…he and May would eat together just like last year. But…but Peter had hoped…

Mr. Stark would never replace Ben. Peter didn't want him to. Would never want that. But he'd become someone important and…and Peter wanted Mr. Stark to know that. He wanted the man to know that he'd filled a role in Peter's life and that he was so grateful. Still, the thought of saying that aloud and making everything awkward was too embarrassing to even consider, so…so he wanted to invite him over for dinner.

Peter waited until 4:30. The table was set. The rolls were almost done. The rest was warming on the stove. The punch was in the fridge. He'd put out their best plates and cups out on a nice tablecloth and…and he stood there, staring at it.

"Are you going to call him?" May asked after a moment, coming up to stand behind him, a hand resting on his shoulder. There were decorative pumpkins and gourds lined up on the counter, and May had swept and vacuumed, fluffing pillows and putting away clutter so that they would be ready for a guest.

"Is this too much?" He asked, gesturing at the table. "I mean…it's not weird, is it? Like…will he think it's weird?"

May touched his cheek and gave him a sad, sweet smile. "Baby…it's not weird. Not at all. I think he'll really appreciate how much work you put into this." He nodded, biting his lip. "Call him. Ask him to come over. I'm getting hungry." She kissed his forehead and he took his phone to his room, dropping on his bed and staring at it for a moment before selecting his name from his contacts.

It only rang three times before Mr. Stark answered, the sound of music in the background telling Peter that he was in his lab. "Hey, Pete. What's going on?" Mr. Stark asked. He sounded okay…sounded happy! Maybe…maybe this was stupid.

"Hi…hey, Mr. Stark. Um…how…how's it going?"

"Fine…" Mr. Stark answered, sounding suspicious. "Everything okay?"

"Can…um…would you come over?" Peter blurted, then cursed himself.

"What's wrong? Where are you?" He asked, immediately on edge.

"No! No…nothing's wrong! Sorry! Um…I just…I meant to ask you…I was…" Peter swallowed his suddenly too dry throat and closed his eyes. "Sorry. Um, I just wanted to ask if you would come over. Not because anything's wrong. Just…just because it's…I mean, I wanted you to come over for…for dinner."

There was a long silence, and he was sure he'd screwed it all up. Had ruined his chance. Not able to stand the quiet, his mouth decided to keep going. "I'm sorry. I know it's stupid. I just…"

"It's not stupid, Peter." He interrupted, not unkindly, but firmly. "That's…thanks, kid. What time should I come?"

Peter's jaw dropped, but he hurried to collect himself. "Um…maybe 5? If you can…I mean, I'm almost done with dinner but we can wait…"

"I'll be right over, Pete."

He practically collapsed, then jumped up, grabbing his change of clothes. Nothing fancy…just a nicer shirt and a newish pair of jeans. May was dressed similarly, and Peter spent the next twenty-five minutes pacing the living room.

There was a knock at the door at five-thirty sharp, and May gave Peter a quick pat on the shoulder before going over to the door and opening it. "Hi, Tony. Thank you for coming over." She greeted, and then she laughed softly. "How did you have time to…"

"I have a guy on standby. I never know when I'm going to need to apologize to Pepper." He said with a chuckle, and when Peter turned the corner, he saw that his aunt was holding a bouquet of roses.

"I'm going to put these in water." She excused herself, heading into the kitchen to grab a vase, and Peter stepped forward to greet Mr. Stark, praying that he didn't think this was weird…that he didn't hate it. But he was dressed in a suit jacket over a black t-shirt and jeans, smiling a little he took in the table and the decorations.

"I know it's probably not what you're used to and it's probably not going to be that great but…"

Mr. Stark reached out, gripping Peter's shoulder and giving him a look he couldn't quite decipher. "It's great, Pete. Thanks for inviting me." Then he gestured to the food May had set out. "Did you cook all this?"

"Yeah…um…yeah, Ben always made dinner and he showed me and…"

"I'm sure it's going to be great." He squeezed Peter's shoulder gently, pulling him into a half hug, and Peter let himself take a breath…let himself relax a little. Mr. Stark looked perfectly comfortable in their little apartment…like he really was happy to be there.

They all sat down to dinner, passing plates around as Mr. Stark made small talk, asking May about work and Peter about school. When he took his first bite of mashed potatoes, he closed his eyes for a second, then looked over at Peter. "You made these?" He confirmed, and Peter nodded.

May laughed a little. "The mashed potatoes are a secret recipe…he won't even tell me how he does it."

"If I weren't already going to offer you a job at Stark Industries, I'd hire you as my chef." Mr. Stark told him with a grin, taking another bite, and Peter's stomach unclenched a little more, laughing softly. He took another bite, feeling more and more hungry. At first, he'd been picking at his food, too nervous to enjoy it, but it really had turned out good.

"Do you like to cook, Tony?" May asked, then took a bite of stuffing and turkey.

"I can make omelets and waffles…also pancakes. Mostly just breakfast food. And lasagna. That's about it." He told her with a grin.

"But your pancakes are really good!" Peter put in. Mr. Stark snorted.

"You just like that I add extra chocolate chips."

"Now that I know you can cook, you get to make the pancakes next time you stay over."

"He does make good pancakes." May put in. "It's a good thing one of us can cook."

"You can cook!" Peter cried, not wanting her to feel bad, and May gave him a wry smile.

"Then why do we eat so much Thai food?"

"Because…I larb you." She snorted, and Mr. Stark chuckled, taking a drink of his punch as May reached out and ruffled Peter's hair.

When they were finished, Peter started to grab the dishes, but May stopped him, a hand on his arm. "I'll get the dishes tonight when I get home. Why don't you and Tony eat some pie and watch TV for a while?"

"Oh…I can…I can do it."

"You cooked. I'll clean up." She dropped a quick kiss to the top of his head, then took their plates to the kitchen. Mr. Stark stood, the two of them taking plates of apple pie into the living room where they sat on the sofa in front of the TV.

"So…did you make the pie too?" Mr. Stark asked.

"We bought it frozen," Peter admitted, and he laughed.

"So you are mortal like the rest of us."

"Frozen is just as good."

Mr. Stark nodded. "It is." He glanced over at the TV, then back at Peter. "Hey, Pete?"

"Yeah?"

"Dinner was great. Thank you. You know you didn't have to do all this."

Peter dropped his eyes, then gave a sheepish smile. "I know…I just…Ben and I used to make dinner every year and now…now it's just me and May. And I knew Pepper would be out of town so…" He hesitated, then decided, what the hell. "I just…I really wanted you to know that I appreciate everything you've done for me and…since Ben I haven't really…haven't had…"

Mr. Stark reached out then, pulling Peter into his arms, squeezing him tightly. Peter closed his eyes, resting his head on his chest and taking a deep breath. No one alive could make Peter feel safe like Mr. Stark…it felt almost like Ben…like his uncle's arms wrapping around him and holding him close after a bad day of school. He squeezed back, careful not to squeeze too hard. "I love you, kiddo." He murmured, so quiet that Peter wondered if he'd even been meant to hear him.

"Love you too." He whispered.

After a moment, Mr. Stark pulled back, wiping a little sheepishly at his face and giving Peter a quick smile. "Alright, Pete. What's the next item on the Parker Thanksgiving agenda?"

"Um…May's going shopping and I…Ben and I…we used to watch a Christmas movie."

Mr. Stark paused, giving him a long look before smiling, his face gentle. "How about Brooklyn Nine-Nine? I haven't seen the new season yet."

Peter hesitated, then smiled. "Yeah?"

Mr. Stark waved a hand. "We'd better get started if we're going to make it to the heist."

That night, when May returned from her shopping trip, arms laden with bags, she paused in surprise when she found Tony still on the sofa. She placed her bags on the table, slipping out of her shoes and peering into the living room. Peter was stretched out, his head against Tony's chest, a blanket around them both. The man blinked up at her as he woke and she couldn't help but notice how he wrapped an arm protectively around her nephew before realizing that it was her.

"Hey…" He murmured. "Sorry…I should go." He started to get up, but she held up a hand.

"Stay." She whispered, shaking her head. "It's late."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. I…" She gave a rueful smile. "I don't know how to thank you for this."

"You were the one that invited me to dinner." He reminded her, both of them speaking in whispers as Peter practically snored on Tony's chest.

"You know what I mean. When Ben died…" She shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment. "I didn't think Peter would ever be this happy again. And that…it's because of you."

Tony looked down at the boy, brushing his curls out of his face, his own face softer than May had ever seen it, and Peter shifted, curling up closer to his chest. She knew that he wasn't Ben…that he couldn't take Ben's place, but he loved Peter. And Peter loved him. So much. "I don't think I can take the credit for this."

"I think you can." She insisted. "Do you want me to wake him? Get him to bed?"

Tony shook his head. "No…he's fine."

"At least let me get you a pillow. And a real blanket.

"I was wondering…does Peter have anything important going on at school tomorrow?"

May smiled, heading toward the closet where they kept the spare pillows. "I don't think it would hurt for him to miss a day."


	5. Antidepressed

**Prompt: Peter runs out of antidepressants **

Honestly, it really was Peter's fault. He'd known that he'd be staying with Mr. Stark at the tower for two weeks while May and Happy went on their vacation. And he'd known that he was getting close to running out. But he'd forgotten to get them filled and May always had to give him money for them…she usually reminded him but she must have forgotten what with the big trip coming up. So maybe it was May's fault?

No…it was Peter's fault. Not May's. He couldn't blame her for this. She was always the one who kept track of this stuff, but he was basically an adult now…old enough to get his own medicine.

Happy and May were going on a road trip. An honest to goodness road trip. Like they were college students on spring break. Not that he was upset…Mr. Stark had offered to let him stay at the tower while they were gone, even though he was almost sixteen and didn't need a babysitter. It was summer vacation though, and May didn't want him staying home alone every day, so Mr. Stark had insisted. And it wasn't so bad. He loved hanging out with Mr. Stark and Pepper…it was just…well, he was running out of antidepressants.

He ran out on day four.

Honestly, he'd be fine, he told himself. He'd gone a day without them before when he'd forgotten to take one, and he had been fine. He would just…get more when May returned from her vacation. And he would be fine. It was only a week…okay, ten days. Ten days was nothing. He was fine. He'd been feeling fine lately…everything would be fine.

Peter had started taking antidepressants almost two years ago. It had started with a sadness that had seemed to fold over him like a blanket, little by little, until he'd felt suffocated by it. Homework had been next to impossible to focus on. Nothing had seemed fun anymore. And Ben and May had been worried. It hadn't been too long before Ben had been sitting down with him in his room, an arm around his shoulders, and Peter had tried to explain that he was just…sad. That he didn't know why, but that he couldn't make it go away. And sure, he'd had happy days too…but they'd seemed so few and far between.

That's when Ben had taken him to therapy for the first time. He'd explained to Peter that Richard Parker had started showing the same signs when he'd been twelve or thirteen and that their parents hadn't caught it nearly early enough…that Peter's father had suffered until college when he'd finally gone to a doctor about his depression. Ben had promised Peter that he wasn't alone…that he was going to be okay, and that Ben and May would be there for him if he ever needed to talk. And in addition to the therapy Peter had gone to for a few months, he had started taking the medicine every day. Thankfully, his spider-metabolism hadn't affected it, and he could still take the same dose without having to talk to a doctor about the fact that he was now a genetically enhanced superhero.

He didn't know if Mr. Stark knew about the antidepressants. It wasn't something they'd ever talked about, but on Peter's second day without them, he woke up with a headache that made his whole head pound, starting at his temples and working its way around to the back of his skull. He closed his eyes as soon as he opened them, rolling over and begging Friday to close his curtains…the light made it a thousand times worse.

Mr. Stark knocked on his door, then entered when Peter muttered his best impression of the words 'come in.'

"Hey, kiddo. You alright. It's almost noon. I know teenagers like to sleep in, but we're cutting into valuable lab time." He teased, placing a hand on his back.

"Yeah…" Peter croaked, still unable to open his eyes, and he felt Mr. Stark press the back of his hand to Peter's forehead. "Headache."

"I'll grab you some medicine. We have some pain relievers that should work on you." Mr. Stark told him, all teasing dropped from his voice as he went serious. He brushed his hand over Peter's hair, and Peter hated himself for worrying the man. Still, he couldn't bring himself to tell Mr. Stark that he needed his antidepressants…that he wasn't sick but in withdrawal. It was…it was embarrassing! He was a superhero! Tony Stark was his mentor and he had superpowers! What did he have to be depressed about?

He swallowed the pills that Mr. Stark gave him with a glass of orange juice, then dropped back onto his pillow. "You want to sleep some more?" The man asked in a whisper, and Peter gave a quick nod. "Alright. I'll wake you in a few hours."

It felt like Peter blinked and then the man was shaking his shoulder gently, a hand pushing hair back from his face. Peter was so cold, his whole body shaking, and he looked blearily up at Mr. Stark who was sitting on the side of his bed. "I'm …I'm cold…" He muttered, feeling like he was slurring, and Mr. Stark nodded, pressing his hand to Peter's clammy forehead.

"I think you have a little bit of a fever. Think you can get up? I made some soup. We can get your sheets changed while you're eating."

Barely comprehending anything he was saying, Peter nodded, then let himself be pulled up only for his knees to buckle. Mr. Stark swore, lunging to catch him…and then Peter was gagging, the vomit escaping before he could do anything about it. Mr. Stark swore again, but caught him before he could faceplant, holding him up and getting the vomit on his pants and socks as it splashed on the ground.

Peter closed his eyes, suddenly sobbing, and Mr. Stark wrapped a firm arm around him. "Sorry…sorry, sorry, sorry…" He sobbed, his whole body aching, but Mr. Stark shushed him, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"Hush, Pete. It's okay. You're alright. Let's get you back in bed."

The world spun and Peter practically fell into bed, head hitting the pillow hard as his whole body shook. Mr. Stark made sure to cover him up, then disappeared for a moment, reappearing in fresh clothes. "My fault…" Peter whispered, tears still escaping from his eyes. "I'm sorry…Mr. Stark…it's my fault."

"It's not your fault that you're sick, Peter." Mr. Stark rebuked him gently, getting a hand under his neck and helping him sit up, then guiding a glass of water to his mouth. "I think we'd better get you down to the Medbay."

"I'm not sick."

"Buddy, you've got a fever and you can barely sit up. You're sick." Mr. Stark told him, voice patient.

Peter shook his head. "Not sick. I…I quit taking them." He all but whispered, and Mr. Stark paused.

"What? Stopped taking what, Pete?"

"I shouldn't need it."

"Friday, what's he talking about?" Mr. Stark asked, apparently giving up on getting a straight answer for Peter, which was a relief…he didn't want to have to say it.

"I believe Peter is referring to the antidepressants he has been taking for the last two years. He ran out of medication two days ago and is experiencing antidepressant discontinuation syndrome or antidepressant withdrawal."

The hand was back on his head then, but Peter had long since closed his eyes, so he wasn't sure if Mr. Stark was angry or not. "Kid, why didn't you tell me you were out of medicine? We could have gotten some more."

"I shouldn't need it." He whispered again.

Mr. Stark tapped a finger against his cheek. "Hey, Spiderling. Look at me." Peter did, reluctantly opening his eyes despite his headache. "You're too smart of a kid to believe that. Hell, Pete, you're a genius. And you know that depression isn't just feeling sad sometimes. It's a problem with the chemicals in your brain. You aren't responsible for brain chemical balances." Peter lowered his eyes and shrugged, and Mr. Stark cupped his cheek for a moment. "That's not something to be embarrassed about, Peter. Especially not with me. I take medicine to manage anxiety every day. It's no different than a person with diabetes taking insulin, or people with bad allergies getting allergy shots."

Peter finally managed to meet Mr. Stark's eyes and give a quick nod. He knew all this. He really did. Just…the thought of approaching THE Tony Stark and asking him for $20 so he could refill an antidepressant prescription had seemed impossible.

"I'm going to send someone out to fill that prescription, and then, when you're feeling better, we're going to get some food in you and we'll chill out on the couch, okay?"

He nodded. "Thanks, Mr. Stark." He all but whispered.

"In the meantime, scoot over." Mr. Stark ordered, and Peter did with a smile, melting into the man's side as he wrapped an arm around his trembling shoulders. "Friday, get whoever is filling in for Happy to fill that prescription, and turn on whichever episode of The Office we left off on."

"You got it, boss."


	6. They Can't Hurt You Anymore

**Prompt: They can't hurt you anymore**

The rescue took longer than expected.

So, so much longer.

That was partly because Tony hadn't even known that Peter was missing. Sure, the kid had started coming over for lab time fairly regularly. But that was every other Friday, and according to the timeline that the police had laid out, Peter had gone to school the following Monday. He'd been marked as present in class, and Ned had told them that he'd been in all of his usual classes. Then he'd left school and…it was like he'd disappeared. There was surveillance footage of him ducking into an alley, and then nothing.

There had been theories. The most popular had been that Spiderman, who had been spotted only a block away, had something to do with the boy's disappearance. But he masked vigilante hadn't been seen since Peter had disappeared and so couldn't be questioned.

May had been working an overnight shift, so it hadn't been until the next morning when she'd gotten home that she'd realized he was gone. That he'd been gone since the previous day. And, understandably, she'd freaked out. But she'd called Tony before calling the police, his phone going off at 6 in the morning. Groaning and rolling over so he wouldn't wake Pepper, he'd taken the call into the bathroom. "Hello?"

"Tony? I'm sorry to bother you so early." She'd been breathing heavily…the way he breathed when he was struggling through a panic attack, and immediately he'd been on guard.

"Don't worry about it. What can I help you with?" He'd asked, suddenly wide awake despite the fact that he'd only gone to bed an hour and a half ago.

"I…I was working a double last night so I just got home…um…" Her voice had cracked a little, but she'd soldiered on. "Peter…he patrolled last night…I think…but…but I just got home….I just…his bed doesn't even look slept in and usually, he…he's still home. He doesn't leave for school until 6:30…it's only 5:54…he wouldn't have gone yet…he would have left me a note."

"Okay." He'd cut in, voice gentle, but his heart had already been racing. "Okay. He's not here, but let me check the suit footage." And he had…the kid had changed into the suit at 3:29. He'd patrolled for a few hours, and then at 6:52, he'd stepped into an alley, taken off the suit, and that was all Tony could see. He'd sent a suit to that alley, and there he'd found no trace of the backpack…but there had been blood spatter on the wall.

The surveillance footage he'd managed to look up showed an unmarked van parked by the mouth of that alley, but the license plate had been covered. So May had called the police, Tony had locked up those files while sending in an anonymous tip about the footage, and then he'd made a phone call to Steve Rogers.

"Tony? Is everything…"

"Have you seen Spiderman?" He'd interrupted, leaning against the table in his lab, Friday's alerts that his heart was beating too fast going unheeded.

"No…" He'd hesitated. "Does this have to do with your intern…"

"My intern is Spiderman, and he's missing." Tony had snapped. He couldn't keep the kid's identity a secret and hope for Steve's help, so he'd gone ahead and bit the bullet, promising the kid that he'd make it up to him.

"Wait, Spiderman is…"

"For the love of all that is holy, Cap, do not ask me any fucking questions right now." He'd snapped, closer to losing it than he wanted to admit. "Just…please…please, keep an eye out for Spiderman. And Peter Parker. "Please."

"Okay. We'll help you find him."

It had taken them a week…a full seven days, but Tony, in the midst of his own search, had received a call from Tony the following Monday. "Tony? We got him."

Which was how Tony found himself entering an abandoned building by the docks in Maine of all places, racing forward in the armor that he opened and jumped out of as soon as he caught sight of Wanda. The woman was standing outside the door, pale and frightened-looking, hands shrouded in red mist. "Natasha has two of the men…the rest we killed." She informed him. Nothing about the way they'd parted, or the fight they'd had.

Tony hadn't asked about Peter's condition. Hadn't dared. But now, seeing the way the young woman stared at the ground, eyes bright and pained, he felt his stomach drop. No…Peter was fine. The kid had to be fine.

The building itself was dark, with the only light coming from windows set at the very top of the walls. It was only one floor, with a cage in the far corner. A cage that Steve Rogers was kneeling beside. In the middle of the room was a bed that looked like it belonged in a horror movie with straps and more bloodstains than Tony could count. The room smelled like blood and vomit…like death. In one corner, a man wearing a surgical mask lay in a puddle of his own blood. He could see other bodies. But he didn't care. All he cared about was the cage where Steve Rogers knelt and the body inside.

"Son? Can you hear me? Peter?" The body didn't move.

Sam Wilson was beside Steve, partially hidden from view, and when he reached a hand into the cage, the person inside screamed.

The noise went right through Tony. Peter. It was Peter. Peter was screaming, head thrown back, body curled up in an impossibly small ball in the very back of the cage, as far away as he could get. The sound was wordless and agonizing and Tony needed it to stop. He raced to the cage, shouldering the two men aside without hesitation then, barely hesitating, he climbed inside the cage on his hands and knees. It was designed for a dog, maybe. A big dog, but still, a dog. So there wasn't enough room to stretch out, but he curled up on his side beside Peter who had stopped screaming and was staring straight ahead, eyes dazed but so afraid.

"Hey. Hey, buddy. It's me. It's Tony…Mr. Stark." The boy looked even worse up close. It looked like he hadn't been fed the entire time he'd been missing, which couldn't be true because he'd be dead, but still. Painfully thin with cheekbones jutting out of his face. Blood on his lips and dripping from a cut on his temple. He had his arms wrapped around himself, and he was rocking just a little, shaking as he moved back and forth. But as soon as Tony spoke, his eyes focused just a little, meeting Tony's. "Hey. Hi. Can you hear me, Pete?"

"M…Mr…"

"Yeah. Mr. Stark. I'm here. I'm right here, buddy." Sam stood, moving around to the back of the cage, and Peter gasped, curling up even smaller and whimpering. "Hey, hey, calm down. They can't hurt you anymore. Okay, buddy?"

"They…the bad men they…"

"They're gone, Pete. I promise. Natasha took care of them. We're the only ones here. Just you and me, Captain America and Falcon. Natasha and Wanda are outside. Do you want to get out of here?"

"I…Mr. Stark…I feel like I can't breathe." The boy whimpered, closing his eyes and choking on a sob, a hand pressed to his chest. Above his head and through the bars, Sam gave him a sharp look.

"Yeah? That's no good. Let's get you out of here and we'll find out why, okay? Did you know that Sam was an army medic? I'll bet he'd tell you all about it if you asked." Tony slipped his arms under the boy, kneeling as best he could. Steve opened the cage door a little wider and Tony lifted the boy, flinching at his cry of pain. "I know, buddy. I know it hurts. Let me get you out of here and then you can lie still, I promise. Just a second." He edged himself out of the cage, cradling the boy as close as he could so that he didn't bump his head on the cage bars. "You're doing great, Pete. Let's lay you down now. There we go." Steve ripped his jacket off, folding it up so that they could pillow it under Peter's head. "Perfect. Great job, Pete."

Sam jumped in, pressing gentle fingers against his neck, and Steve pressed an ear to his chest, making do without a stethoscope. "I have the jet waiting outside. Can we move him?" He asked the more experienced medics.

"He has decreased breath sounds on his left side…it seems like his rib nicked a lung, but it's healing. But they've drugged him…that might be why he's having trouble breathing." Steve spoke so quickly that Tony almost couldn't catch it all. "You still have medical supplies on the jet?" Tony nodded. He knew, in some part of his mind, that he was still pissed at Steve, but for the moment, if he could save the kid, he didn't care. "Okay, let's get him to the jet."

"Alright, Petey. I'm gonna pick you up again. I know I promised you could rest, but we need to get out of this place and onto the jet. I've got some good medicine for you. Okay?"

"Mr. Stark?" The boy asked, pupils blown wide as his head lolled to the side.

"That's right, buddy. Mr. Stark has you." He put his arms under the boy again, ignoring the pain in his back. "We're going to get you fixed up. I promise, kiddo, we'll have you back to normal in no time." The boy groaned, but nodded just a little, resting his head on Tony's shoulder. "That's right, buddy. Just rest."


	7. He Hit You With A Train

**Prompt: He hit you with a train**

Peter had known pain before. Plenty of times. It came with the territory of saving people, hunting things….the family business?

No…that was from Supernatural.

Saving people. He was a superhero, his groggy brain told him. He saved people and he got hurt and Mr. Stark was always there to patch him up. After a rough patrol or injuries acquired after web shooter malfunctions or his own stupidity as he tried to outdo himself for how many flips he could do after jumping off increasingly tall buildings, he had called Mr. Stark more and more over the last two years, and the man would gripe at him, hands gentle as he patched him up, sewing up cuts or wrapping sprains, his first aid kit stocked with ice packs and sewing kits and bandages.

But that had been before…and now Mr. Stark couldn't help him anymore. He had to do it alone. Which meant, at some point, he had to get up. Force his body to sit up and force his eyes open and figure out where he was. Because all he knew at the moment was how much his body hurt, and that he could hear other voices nearby…but they weren't speaking English.

And then there was another voice.

"You let me into this cell or I'll blast the fucking door off!" The voice came to him as if from far away, and Peter groaned, shifting. He was sitting up, propped against a wall, and everything hurt. Everything. His back. His lungs. His arms and legs. He needed to figure out why. But the other person was yelling. "I don't give a shit!" There was a silence, and then the other person was sighing, sounding a little less furious but still irritated. "I don't speak…Friday, translate, would you?"

Friday?

There were more words…he must have dozed off again, but then a door was creaking open and someone was right in front of him, rushed footsteps not stopping until someone nearly ran into him. Hands gripped his shoulders, then one cupped his cheek, careful of what Peter assumed were bruises. He had to be covered in bruises considering how much everything hurt. "Wake up Peter…please. Please wake up." The familiar voice begged, and Peter frowned in his attempted sleep.

"Missr…Stark?" He asked, sure he had it wrong. Mr. Stark was still in the medbay. He'd talked to the man right before he'd left for Europe, sitting beside the hospital bed and promising that he'd be careful, all the while putting a puzzle together with Morgan. Mr. Stark had told him that he was done with Iron Man…that he'd made a promise to Pepper, considering he'd lost most of one arm, and it would take a couple more weeks before he was even supposed to be out of bed. So there was no way he could be there, Peter told himself.

"Yeah, Pete. Look at me, huh?" The man pleaded. But Mr. Stark couldn't be there.

Peter groaned, then clenched his eyes shut as tightly as he could before trying to force them open. "You're…s'posed to be in bed." He mumbled, blinking warily at the man. Was he even real? What if this was another hallucination? And then it came to him with a moment of startling clarity, blood turning to ice. Beck. Beck was doing this.

"Yeah, and you're supposed to be with the rest of your classmates!" Mr. Stark cried.

Peter stared at him, then shook his head, breath catching in his throat. "It's not real…this isn't real! I know he's not here!" He cried, jerking away and looking around for Beck, for a crack in the illusion. "It's not real!" He screamed at the concerned looking men sitting beside him in what appeared to be a jail cell. The last thing he remembered was crawling in through the window of the train that had broken what felt like all of his ribs…why would he be in jail? Okay, so maybe they might have put a random guy on a train dressed in a weird spandex suit in jail…especially if he didn't have a ticket. "Get away from me!" He snapped, pulling away from the hands trying to hold him.

"Peter, hey. Focus up, bud. I'm real. I'm really here." The hallucination murmured, voice so gentle at familiar they Peter's eyes filled. He so wanted it to be Mr. Stark…didn't feel like he could take another beating from Beck…couldn't take any more illusions.

"Then tell me something Beck wouldn't know," Peter whispered, trying not to cry.

"I'm going to kill Quentin Beck. How's that for something he doesn't know?" The man all but snarled, voice full of hatred. Peter continued to stare at him, a tear finally escaping, and the hallucination softened, the flesh and blood hand tightening on his shoulder while the metal one brushed a tear away. "I love you. So much. I spent every day of those five years, two months, and eighteen days wishing I had more time with you, to tell you how important you are to me. You're my kid…my son, in everything but blood. I promised you before you left that I'd stay in bed and be good and that when you got back, we'd play with some new suit designs for you. Morgan said you should have a pink suit and you said that was a great idea. And then, when Nick fucking Fury told me that he'd gotten you mixed up in all this shit, I snuck out of the house in a suit like a teenager, stole my own private jet, and flew to Europe to find you and kill the guy that hurt my boy."

Peter closed his eyes, the sob escaping as he dropped his head forward, forehead landing on the man's shoulder. "I messed up, Mr. Stark." He sobbed, words barely making it out of his mouth. "He…he took the glasses and I thought…I thought he was a good guy but he tricked me and…I was so stupid…"

"You were not stupid. He's a manipulative asshole and I swear he won't be a problem for much longer." He soothed, arm's around Peter. "How about we get you out of jail, huh, Pete? Never thought I'd be saying that…how'd you end up here anyway?"

"He…he made me see things…and then…I didn't know what was real…". Peter choked out, feeling all of five years old. "And I stepped back and there was a train…"

"He hit you with a train?" Mr. Stark demanded, jaw dropping as horror took over his features.

Part nodded, despite the fact that any other time he would have joked that Beck hadn't been driving the train, so no, he hadn't been the one to hit him. Instead, he went on with his explanation. "I climbed in through one of the windows and sat down…I should have gotten off but it…it hurt." He had to swallow back a sob as he fought to continue, his hand gripping Mr. Stark's metal wrist. "I fell asleep and…I guess they brought me here?"

Mr. Stark presses his lips together, then nodded. "Okay. Think you can stand up?" He nodded, letting Mr. Stark get an arm around him, groaning in pain when he helped him to his feet.

"Do you have to pay something or…"

"Don't worry about it, Pete." Mr. Stark assured him quietly, supporting him as they walked together out of the police station and out to the street where a car waited. The man eased Peter into the passenger seat, then climbed into the driver's side, not taking off but leaning over the middle console, wrapping his arms around Peter and resting his cheek on his head. "I love you kid. So much."

"I love you too," Peter whispered, biting back a sob. "I'm sorry…"

"Don't apologize, bud. We're going to get you fixed up, and then I'm going to wipe the floor with that asshole."

Peter had to smile, laughing a little when he ruffled his hair. "Thanks for coming."

"I'll always have your back, Pete. Always."


	8. Do You Even Still Love Me?

**Prompt: Do you even still love me?**

"Do you even still love me?" The words were out of Peter's mouth before he even had a chance to think about them, and he wanted to take them back. Put them back in his mouth. Swallow them and choke on them…anything to get him out of this conversation. Idiot, he called himself. Stupid, idiot, baby. What the hell was his problem?

His dad stared at him, wide-eyed. Horrified. And Peter hated himself. His dad had risked everything to get him back…had somehow invented time travel, according to Scott, and he'd lost most of his arm and…and he'd risked losing Morgan and Pepper and…

His father had had another kid while he'd been gone.

It had all started when he'd been introduced to the little girl, and he really liked her. Really. He liked her a lot. She was cute and sweet and she called him her big brother and he'd hugged her and then…then he'd watched his dad pick her up and something in him had twisted. Painful and heavy and his eyes had started to fill…and then…he'd just needed a minute.

That had happened quite a few times since that final battle had finally been over…since he'd woken up on Titan with Dr. Strange and then he'd been by the compound, which had been totally destroyed and then…then there had been a battle with Thanos and that beautiful glowing lady had grabbed the gauntlet from him, smiling and snapping her fingers before anyone else noticed that she had it…and then he'd been in his father's arms again.

Then he'd found out about Morgan.

Morgan Stark. He couldn't help but notice how his dad looked at her and Pepper…how he'd held her in his arms and kissed her when he'd first seen her. How she'd thrown her arms around his neck and how he'd called her 'little miss' and 'Morguna' and told her that he loved her 3000 and….they had inside things he didn't understand. His dad had a whole new family. He'd moved on.

His dad had come out to find him when he'd disappeared from the cook-out, promising a persistent Morgan that he'd read her a bedtime story later…a promise he wasn't sure if he could keep since it was getting dark. Every Friday since his father had come home from the hospital (so…like, for 3 Fridays) they had cooked out on the grill. Not that his father had never grilled out before. But he hadn't really…they'd lived in the city and they'd eaten Chinese take-out and watched movies and now…now his dad spent his early evenings putting Morgan to bed and…and he'd tried. Peter knew as he curled up on the dock beside the lake, that his dad was trying. After putting Morgan to bed, he'd always offer to watch movies or work downstairs in the lab or even just hang out…and Peter shut him down every time.

It wasn't that he didn't like Morgan. Really…what kind of monster would that make him? He just…couldn't stand to look at her. Or talk to her. Or watch his dad look at her or talk to her. He knew that Pepper had caught on. Sometimes when she passed, she would place a hand on his shoulder or drop a kiss on his temple. But it didn't make it hurt any less.

They'd moved on without him. They'd had a whole new family and they'd bought a lakehouse and they were happy. And he hadn't wanted them to stop living…but…but a part of him had.

And then his dad had found him, and he'd asked that idiotic question. His dad stared down at him in the fading light, slowly moving to sit at his side, and Peter felt the tears pouring down his cheeks. Everything he'd been shoving back for weeks suddenly burst out, and he dropped his forehead onto his knees. Then his dad was pulling him into his arms, holding him tight as he sobbed. "You…you had another kid…and you moved…" Peter choked out, feeling guilty for the words but unable to stop him. "You…you got married and moved and you don't even live in New York City anymore and I'm supposed to be Spiderman but I can't out here…and…and you have another kid and you forgot me."

"No." His father stopped him, gripping Peter tightly. "No, baby…no. I never…" He started, then pulled away, cupping his face in his hands. "Never. I could never forget you. Not ever. I thought about you every single day, Peter. I…I had to get you back."

"You had another kid." He whispered. And he hated himself. He absolutely loathed himself for his words and his accusation and he knew that it made him a monster. But he didn't want a little sister…not one that had just shown up out of nowhere and who his dad loved so much when his father was supposed to love him!

"Yeah. I did." His father matched his tone, wiping a tear from under his eye with his thumb, the gesture just making more tears fall. "I…I got married. And I moved out of the city. And I…Pep and I had another kid. Because I had no idea…I thought I'd lost you, Pete. I thought…everyone was gone. I mourned you, every single day. Always. I built a bedroom in my lake house for my dead son and refused to let anyone touch a single thing inside. Pep thought I'd lost it. I obsessed over ways to get you back. It consumed every part of my life…but I couldn't figure it out. And then…I tried to move on. I tried to remember you and still live my life. And it seemed like it was working. But…it was either that or die with you."

Peter swallowed hard, dropping his eyes, and his dad wiped away another tear.

"And then, Scott Lang and his merry gang showed up and suggested time travel." He snorted. "Time travel, Pete. Like I hadn't already thought of that. But…I took one look at your picture that night and I knew that I had to try again. Because if there was a chance…any chance that I could get my son back, I had to take it. And I did. I got you back. And I know that it's strange. And hard. And I know that you just woke up and suddenly I had another kid, but you have to know that I would have given anything to get you back. You're my son. My baby. And I love you so much."

Peter closed his eyes, nodding and resting his head on his dad's shoulder. "I love you too, dad."

"We're going to figure this out, buddy. I promise. If that means moving back to the city, then we'll do it. If it means therapy or talking to someone or…whatever. I don't care. There's nothing I won't do for my kids, Pete. Both of them."

Peter nodded again, just resting in his dad's arms as the man held him, and it felt just like when he was a kid…just like how his dad had always held him. He was safe there, in his dad's arms. Always.

A few minutes passed and he wiped his eyes, feeling his cheeks heat up. He hadn't meant to meltdown like a little kid, but his dad only ran a hand through his hair, smiling at him like he couldn't quite believe that he'd gotten him back. "I missed you so much, Pete. So much."

"I…well, I didn't really miss you because it only felt like five minutes but…" His dad chuckled, ruffling his hair with his good arm. "Sorry…" He murmured, not really apologizing for the joke. His father shook his head.

"You don't ever have to apologize for how you feel, bud. If you need me, I'm here."

Peter glanced over at the lake and the sun that was quickly disappearing, then smiled, something in his heart loosening. "We'd better head back."

"You sure? Pep can put Morgan to bed tonight if you want to talk some more."

Peter shook his head, still smiling. "I promised her I'd read her a bedtime story tonight. But maybe after?"

His dad gripped his hand, then leaned in, pulling him into his arms and kissing the side of his head. "Of course, buddy. Sounds great. We can order Chinese and work in the lab?"

"We just ate."

"Please. Don't think I've forgotten about your bottomless appetite."


	9. Yell, Scream, Cry

**Prompt: "Yell, scream, cry, please just…say something"**

This wasn't a place that Peter had ever expected to find himself. He knew the Vulture was still out there… knew that people were in danger and he could have fixed it… could have saved them.

But not anymore. His suit was with Ned. When Mr. Stark finally remembered that he existed, maybe he'd track it down and take it back. Not that it mattered. Not now…not when everything was gone and he was so alone…how could he have become an orphan four times? How the hell could life be so cruel that he would lose everyone? Peter buried his face in his knees, shivering uselessly against the cold.

It had been a month and Mr. Stark hadn't even bothered to call. Happy either.

He hadn't grabbed a coat before leaving…before he'd jumped out the window and run. The parents had been fine. The little boy had been nice, but kind of quiet…kind of afraid always. But the older boy…eighteen years old and home from college for the weekend to meet the new foster kid…Peter hadn't known that walking through the living room while Jim was home was a crime. Hadn't known that the older boy would grab a beer bottle and throw it at his head and hadn't known that defending himself would get his nose broken.

So he'd left. Three days ago…three days ago he'd run to his room and leapt out the window, stopping only to grab his sweater and his backpack which held fifteen dollars, his cell phone (which he'd thrown into the river), his old webshooters and web fluid, and an extra pair of socks that he hadn't unpacked yet. He was glad for the extra socks as he curled up under the bridge, the horn of the ferry and the sound of the river mingling with the sounds of traffic. He was too cold, though, so he'd need to find a place to curl up where he could be hidden from the wind.

He took to the roof of a building close by, scaling the side of it and curling up by the ledge. It kept most of the wind off, and he used his backpack as a pillow. It had been a month…a month since the funeral and a month of waiting for Mr. Stark to call until he'd finally dropped his phone into the water, knowing that if Mr. Stark had wanted to call him, he would have. Happy was probably just relieved that Peter had stopped bugging him, he thought bitterly. He'd never wanted to deal with Peter…had never wanted to take his calls or answer his texts. Happy hated him. And, Peter thought with a shiver, Mr. Stark probably regretted ever getting Peter involved in any of this. He had just needed some help in Germany…and then he'd given Peter the suit out of what? Pity?

Burying his face in his backpack and fighting the tears, Peter curled up as much as he could, desperate to stay warm. It wasn't working…but, as he quickly figured out, it didn't matter. Because he was so cold that it almost didn't hurt anymore. He closed his eyes, figuring he'd find a warmer place to sleep the next night. He couldn't go to a shelter…he knew his face was on the news. "Queens teenager missing after running away from their foster home." Would Mr. Stark have seen? Would he even care? The man had seemed nice…well…almost nice. But now…what did it matter? Peter was starting to feel almost warm. Comfortable. It was almost Thanksgiving and there were snowflakes drifting through the air and Peter wasn't afraid.

Hands shook him. Or maybe the hands were shaking. "Come on…come on, Pete. Come on…wake up. Wake up, Peter." It took Peter a moment to realize his eyes were open and that someone was touching his face with hands so hot they stung. "Come on, buddy. Yell, scream, cry, please just…say something. Alright? Just…here…take my jacket…it's so cold out here…" The voice sounded afraid. So absolutely afraid as they rambled and placed something over him, brushing something from his arms first. Snow…it had been snowing. "Please…please, kid. You can't…you can't do this…please…"

Peter couldn't muster the energy to speak, but as hot hands pressed to his face then rubbed up and down his arms, he realized he had started shaking. "There you go! Good…good job, Pete. Come here…" He was pulled by his upper arm and held against someone warm, hands rubbing vigorously up and down his arms. Slowly, feeling came back to his fingers and arms, but only a little. It burned…he was cold, he realized. So, so cold.

"Friday? Yeah…yeah, okay." The person pulled away, hands holding his shoulders to steady him before they stepped back…and then he was pulled into warm metal arms. "Heat up the exterior of the suit as warm as you can without hurting him." The person ordered, carrying him a few steps before weightlessness settled over them, and they were dropping so slowly, the loud humming of repulsers making something in his memory click. Iron Man?

"Holy shit! Is that the kid!"

"Just open the back door! Now!" They barked, and Peter felt himself being placed in a car…his eyes had shut at some point, he realized, but he didn't have the energy to open them again. It didn't matter. He just wanted to sleep. But it wasn't a minute later that someone was sitting right beside him, stripping his jacket off…and the sweater. In just his t-shirt, Peter was held against a warm body, and then pulled onto their lap as they rocked him. "You're okay. I've got to warm you up…you're freezing, Pete."

Iron Man knew his name?

Peter's head felt fuzzy and he rested his face against the person's neck, feeling his cold nose get warm when pressed to their hot skin. A hand rubbed his back through his t-shirt, and he could feel the soft words in the man's chest. Mr. Stark's chest?

"You're okay. I'm going to get you back to the tower. We're going to get you warmed up. It's gonna be alright, Pete. I'm sorry…I'm so sorry. I didn't know…I swear, I didn't know."

"You…you're Iron Man…save…saved me…again…" Peter tried to tell him, remembering being so small and holding up a glove covered hand…remembering the clank of Iron Man landing behind him and the drone that had exploded.

"Yeah…yeah, I saved you." The man sounded like he was crying. Mr. Stark…Mr. Stark was crying, nose pressed to the top of his head. "I'm so sorry. Pete…I'm sorry. I didn't know. I didn't…shit…I'm so sorry, Peter."

Peter couldn't remember what he would be sorry for, but as they pulled into a parking garage, he figured it didn't matter all that much. All he cared about was getting warm, and he figured that if anyone could save him, it was Iron Man.


	10. When You Can't Sleep

**Prompt: Tony and sleepy Peter**

Tony scrolled on his tablet, eyes watering a little from their need to close. He blinked a few times, trying to clear them as he adjusted something on the screen. These blueprints were due in less than six hours, and he'd already pushed the deadline back twice. One more time, he thought, and Pepper might just fire his ass. Not that she could actually fire him…but she would be upset. And he hated upsetting Pepper…well, about the company. The world was fully back to normal, it seemed, and people wanted the newest Stark Phone.

Never mind he'd already helped save the universe. Now they needed new phones!

He hadn't been the one to actually save the universe, he reminded himself, the reminder just as painful this time as it had been every other time. Tony had expected to die in that battle. He'd even recorded a message for his family…for Morgan and Pepper and, of course, Peter, on the off chance that he'd be able to bring everyone back. And he had. He'd figured out time travel. He'd brought Peter back.

The soft sound of bare feet on the wood floor made him look up, and his heart clenched when he caught sight of the boy, bleary eyed as he stood in the doorway to the living room. It had been almost three weeks, and Peter's arm was still in a sling, wrapped in bandages that covered slowly fading burn scars. His neck and the left side of his face were covered with those same scars, and despite all his protests to the contrary, Tony knew they hurt him. The snap that would have killed Tony had left Peter in a coma for the better part of three days…but then he'd woken up.

May had agreed to let Peter stay at the lakehouse, considering his secret identity and the scars, not to mention the physical therapy that Sam Wilson drove out to give him every other day. Tony had offered to take Peter to him instead, but Sam had insisted it was fine…that he liked the drive, but Tony had a feeling he just didn't want Peter to be cooped up in a car for two hours three days a week.

"Hey, bud. What are you doing up?" Tony asked in a voice that, until three weeks ago, had been reserved for his youngest child.

"Couldn't sleep."

"Yeah? Come here." Forgetting all about the blueprints and taking note of the time, 3:04am, Tony put the tablet on the coffee table and lifted an arm. Without hesitating, Peter moved over to his side and sat, filling the spot under Tony's arm perfectly. He wrapped the arm around his boy, pressing a kiss to the top of Peter's head when he dropped it on Tony's shoulder. "Why can't you sleep?" He asked, the redness of Peter's eyes and the way he'd sniff occasionally, breath catching just a little, giving him a clue. Still, he asked. Instead of answering, Peter just shrugged. "Nightmares?" he prompted.

Peter shrugged again.

He'd been doing so well. Since he'd woken up, Peter had been handling all of this better than expected. He'd been happy to meet Morgan, and he'd spent plenty of time over the last few weeks chatting with her and watching movies with her and playing with her as best he could. At first, walking had been really hard for him, but he'd been working hard and recovering and now there was only the hint of a limp. Morgan knew to be careful with him, and Peter, Tony knew, would do anything for her. He seemed happy during the day, facetiming with his aunt and his friends, and sitting in the lab with Tony, the two of them working on a redesign of his suit. But Tony knew better than anyone that the nights were different. The nights were harder.

"About Thanos?"

Peter shuddered at the name and Tony pressed another kiss to his hair. The boy took a shaky breath and Tony debated with himself, caught between the urge to comfort and the urge to push. In the end, neither choice was necessary.

"Yeah…I…keep dreaming…dreaming about him…"

"I'm sorry, kiddo." Tony rubbed his good shoulder, his left shoulder still bandaged…still being monitored by Helen who also made weekly trips out to the lakehouse.

"He…he killed you…"

Tony straightened a little at that, frowning down at the boy who didn't look up…just keep talking, voice wavering.

"I keep dreaming…that he…he kills you and…" He broke off, eyes shut as he buried his face in Tony's shoulder.

"Buddy…hey, look at me," Tony murmured, squeezing him in a hug, then dipping his face down to meet his red, watery eyes. "It's just a dream. I promise. I'm right here. I got you back and you…hell, kid, you saved the universe." Bringing a hand up, he rubbed a thumb gently under Peter's eye, careful of the scars there.

Peter gave a watery smile. "You helped."

"That's right I did. We saved the universe." He squeezed Peter again, and the boy rested his head on Tony's shoulder. It was something Tony had never thought he'd get to experience. Before the boy had disappeared…had been turned to dust, Tony had never quite let him in. Had never let him close enough to offer a real hug…to just hold the boy he'd learned to love like his own son. And after making it back to earth, he'd been sure that he'd never get to make it right. That he'd never be able to tell Peter how much he loved him.

And then he'd gotten a second chance. He wasn't about to waste it.

The boy settled in at his side, snuggling in a little, head resting on Tony's shoulder. "You want to go back to bed, Pete?"

He shook his head. "Comfy."

Tony snorted. "Really? My shoulder can't be more comfortable than your pillow. I paid $95 for that pillow."

For a moment, Peter was quiet, and Tony thought the boy might have fallen asleep. But then he spoke, voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. "I wanted to be with you. I won't have nightmares if I'm with you."

Tony closed his eyes when they grew hot, taking a deep breath to keep his voice from wavering. "Yeah?"

Peter nodded.

"Alright, buddy. We'll have a sleepover, huh?" Tony reached back, grabbing a blanket thrown over the back of the sofa, and wrapped it around both of them. "You could have told me, you know?"

"Didn't want to bother you," Peter murmured, eyes shut tight, muscles relaxing.

"You could never," Tony whispered, resting his cheek on the side of his head. "I love you, buddy. You know that, right? I love you so much. I don't know what I would have done if…if you hadn't…" Just the thought…the thought of Peter laying on that battlefield, the gauntlet on his left hand smoking, burns covering the entire left side of his face, made his heart clench. He couldn't bear it. Didn't think he could have survived losing Peter again.

But he didn't have to. Because Peter was alive. His boy was alive and fast asleep on his shoulder, and Tony would spend a thousand sleepless nights on the sofa as long as Peter was with him. Lifting his arm to grab the tablet, he froze when Peter muttered in his sleep, then lowered it.

The phone would just have to wait. Pepper would understand.


	11. Tantrum

**Prompt: Bio Son Peter throws a tantrum.**

Tony used to laugh at parents that talked about the 'terrible twos and threes.' He scoffed at people in the grocery store whose four year olds threw themselves on the ground screaming or whose elementary aged kids threw things or talked back or fought with each other in the aisles. He wasn't sure exactly what all of those parents were doing wrong, but he knew it had to be something. Because his four-year-old son was an angel, and he was killing this whole 'single parenting' thing. Sure, he'd only been doing it for three months, but still. His son was perfect and well-behaved and quiet and loved science and being with his dad or uncle Rhodey, so yeah…Tony had to say, all this talk of tantrums and screaming being inevitable was just bad parenting disguised as natural life stages.**  
**

And then he took Peter shopping.

He'd taken his son shopping once or twice, when the boy's mother had first died…when he'd been informed by a team of three lawyers and a social worker than his one-night-stand of almost five years ago was dead and that he was next in line for the job of raising his son. He didn't really remember Mary all that well, but he'd be damned if he left his kid in the hands of strangers, no matter what Obie said. Or Pepper. Or Rhodey. He couldn't exactly blame them. He'd been hungover when he'd received the call.

But in the three months of having the kid, he'd only gotten blackout drunk twice, so he thought that was a step up. Unfortunately, the second time had come the night before this shopping trip. It was getting close to Christmas, and memories of Christmas brought memories of the night his parents had gone out, never to return. Memories of a car crash and memories of losing himself and never quite finding himself again.

Tony shook those thoughts off. He'd promised Peter that the two of them would do something the night before, and then he'd gotten drunk instead. It hadn't been a conscious decision. It had started with a drink. And then a refill. And then Pepper had been helping him to bed and Rhodey had been picking up his son from the living room sofa, and they had both been so angry. But Peter had been fine! He'd been sitting on the sofa in the other room, watching TV and seeming to entertain himself.

To make it up to the boy, Tony had decided to take him shopping for an early Christmas present. Kids loved toys, right? So, ignoring the stony looks from Pepper and a voicemail from Rhodey, he had bundled an unusually quiet Peter up into his winter coat and driven the two of them to the nearest mall. And…it was a lot. He clung tightly to Peter's hand once inside, the crowds of parents and kids pressing into them on all sides. He'd gotten drunk in front of his kid…he wasn't going to lose him in the shopping mall the next day.

Just the thought, those words…drunk in front of his kid, made a wave of hot shame overtake him, and he nearly stopped in the middle of the aisle on their way to the toys. He'd gotten blackout drunk when he'd been watching his kid. Even Howard had never done that. What if something had happened? What if Peter had gotten hurt, or, god forbid, had tried to drink some of his alcohol? He couldn't have stopped him! Or what if Tony had suddenly become a mean drunk and hurt him? What if he had done something and he couldn't remember because he'd blacked out!

Peter stood beside him in the aisle, the two of them inching along, and Tony squeezed his hand, heart clenching when the boy didn't look up. He was four. He'd been forced to live with his father that he'd never met after losing his mother in an accident he didn't understand and then his dad had drank himself to sleep in front of him.

What the hell was Tony doing?

"Alright, kid. How about we find you a toy and get something to eat, huh?"

Peter didn't say anything, just nodded, and Tony led him toward the toy aisle that was so packed they could barely get in. Swearing under his breath, Tony started to lead Peter to another aisle, but the boy held fast. Tony glanced back at him, but Peter wasn't looking at him.

"Why don't we look somewhere else?"

Peter shook his head, trying to tug his hand out of Tony's, but Tony held fast. He couldn't lose his kid in a shopping mall after only having him for three months! "Pete, we're going to look somewhere else. This aisle is too crowded."

"I don't want to."

The words surprised Tony, and he blinked at the boy before something rose in him…an anger that Howard had put in him. Pulling more firmly, Tony lowered his voice and started to kneel down. "If you don't come with me, then we're going home."

"No!" Peter screamed it, yanking his hand almost completely out of Tony's, and on reflex, Tony tightened his grip even more, then recoiled when the boy screamed, legs dropping out from under him and his body slamming into the ground. "Let go! Let go! I don't want to! Let me go! I hate you!"

Tony glanced around, too aware of the eyes on them, and reached out for the flailing boy, torn between embarrassment and anger. "Peter, stop!" he hissed. The boy ignored him.

"I hate you! You aren't my daddy! I want my mom! I want my mom!" He wailed, feet kicking against Tony when he started to pick him up, head thrown back against the floor over and over so hard that had Tony been less angry, he would have been worried.

"Stop it! Right now!" He reached out, grabbing both of Peter's arms in a bruising grip, yanking him off the floor. "Peter, stop!" Other parents were averting their eyes and herding their children away and he knew that someone would start filming soon if they hadn't already. It would be on the internet before morning. Tony Stark, a failure as a son and a failure as a father.

Peter continued to scream at the top of his lungs, and Tony held him by his upper arms, giving him a quick, furious shake before he even realized what he was doing. The boy kept fighting him, and then, to Tony's horror, there was blood beading up under his nose.

Had he done that? Had he hurt Peter?

He dropped his hands as though he'd been burned, taking a step back and feeling his stomach clench painfully…and then a dark haired woman was there, a hand on his arm as she steadied him. "Sir, why don't you just take a minute?" she urged, then, before he could answer, she knelt in front of Peter who had stopped screaming and now just stood there, looking so small, arms wrapped around himself as he sobbed silently, blood running from his nose.

"I didn't mean to…" Tony whispered, shaking his head.

"Come on, honey. Why don't we get you cleaned up, huh?" The woman offered, holding out her hand, but Peter shook his head, cringing away. "Do you want to hold my hand or your dad's?"

"Dad," Peter rasped, and Tony held out his hand without thinking, watching as his son stared at it for a moment, wary, before taking it. Then the woman led them both to the family restroom, Tony shell shocked, Peter still crying. Once they were all inside, she grabbed a paper towel and ran it under cool water, then handed it to Tony.

Moving forward on autopilot, Tony sat on the closed toilet lid, wiping the blood from Peter's nose and lip and chin…there was nothing he could do about the stain on his shirt. Still, he took the second paper towel the lady handed him, wiping Peter's face with a shaking hand. The boy just stared at him, brown eyes huge and red-rimmed. "Pete? Buddy, you okay?" Peter didn't answer, lip wobbling, and when Tony reached out a hand to touch his cheek, Peter dropped his head, eyes slamming shut, a tear running down his cheek, breath coming in a hitching gasp as he tried not to cry. "Hey…baby, I'm…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't…did I hurt your arm?" Tony pulled his sleeve up, running a gentle thumb over the red place there. "I'm sorry."

The woman hovered behind them, but when Peter didn't answer, she stepped forward. "Hi, Peter. Do you want to talk about why you were so upset?" Peter blinked at her, moving a little closer to Tony's legs. Then she knelt down and held out a hand. "I'm May. I'm a nurse. Do you know what a nurse does?"

Peter placed his hand in hers then, after glancing back at his father to make sure it was okay. "Work at a hospital."

"That's right. I help people at the hospital. I saw that you were upset and I wanted to help. Can you tell us why you were so upset?"

Peter was quiet, and May smiled. "Was it because of all the people? I know it was really loud in there."

The boy shrugged, and Tony wanted to tell her that he was four…that there was no way the kid knew how to put feelings into words like that…but then Peter spoke, voice soft and halting.

"Daddy…said we'd do something fun yesterday but…but he drank the grown up stuff and got sick and then we couldn't go."

The words were like an arrow through Tony's chest, and he closed his eyes for a moment, dropping his head. Peter had seen him. He'd seen him while he was drunk. Of course he had.

"Mommy never did that. I…I want her…" Peter voice broke then, and Tony reached out for the boy before he could break down again, pulling him close and wrapping his arms around him. When he looked up at the woman who had introduced herself as May, he expected judgement. Condemnation. Instead, she was smiling softly at him, eyes full of nothing but compassion.

"That must have been scary, seeing your dad sick."

Peter nodded against his shoulder, and Tony pressed his nose to his son's hair, breathing in deep. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, buddy. I'm…I'm not going to do that again, okay?"

Peter pulled back, holding out his tiny pinky finger. "Promise?" he asked, his eyes so full of trust. If Tony promised, he realized, he had to do it. He had it. He couldn't let this boy down. Not again.

"Yeah, baby." He wrapped his pinky finger around Peter's, letting Peter shake their hands up and down. "I promise."


	12. Apocalypse

**Prompt: Apocalypse AU**

Peter kept his head down taking one step after the other, and felt sweat run down his back. His legs were starting to ache after miles and miles of walking, and he was grateful for his suit that protected his eyes from the harsh sunlight. On his back, head resting on his shoulder, four-year-old Morgan sat in a makeshift sling of cloth held together with his webbing. He'd done his best to make it comfortable for her, and had allowed her to walk for a long time until she'd tired herself out, asking, finally, to be held. On her face were a pair of her father's sunglasses, and he'd draped a blanket over her despite the heat, hoping to keep her from a sunburn.

They'd been safe when the bombs had gone off. Mr. Stark didn't know that...not with every cell tower along with nearly every other structure destroyed. But they had been safe, the two of them at the Compound upstate, along with the rest of the staff. Mr. Stark had left them there for the weekend, flying Georgia to talk about the virus...about the thing that turned normal people into ravenous, bloodthirsty monsters. He'd been studying it and trying to find a cure, or at least a vaccine, since it had first appeared in Canada months ago, but then, all at once, it had seemed to explode.

Peter didn't know where May was...didn't know where any of the Avengers were. He didn't know if Mr. Stark and Pepper were safe. All he knew was that he'd been sitting in the living room with Morgan when an alarm had gone off, and Friday had instructed him to get to the panic room underground. So he had, grabbing her out of bed and racing down to Mr. Stark's lab, then through a thick metal door, a crying Morgan clutching his shirt and screaming as the world had started to shake.

And then, the door shut firmly behind them, Peter had held her, the two of them in the corner, a blanket wrapped around them. The room had shaken, and the sounds of explosions had filled the air, but he'd just held her, praying that May was safe. That the staff had found their own panic room. That the Avengers were okay and that Mr. Stark was okay...that everything was going to be okay.

When the shaking and explosions had stopped, Peter had waited hours to open the door. Morgan had long since fallen asleep before he had pushed it open, staring at the wreckage of the Compound in stunned, helpless silence. It was gone. The whole thing...twisted metal and broken glass had littered the ground and he'd thought of the staff. The people who had worked there. Or for Shield. There had been at least fifteen other people there. And then he'd caught sight of a body and had turned away, bile rising in his throat.

Glancing back at Morgan, he had felt his resolve strengthen. He had to get her to her father. That had been his only goal. So he'd gotten to work as quickly as he could. He'd found his suit in his backpack, and a blanket to make a sling for her. Next, he'd picked her up, trying not to wake her, and had gone in search of a vehicle.

Mr. Stark's Audi had gotten them all the way to Maryland, driving on ruined, deserted roads as best he could with Morgan alternating between sleeping and crying in the back. Then he'd switched to a pickup truck that had been abandoned, keys in the ignition, blood splattered on the doors. That had gotten them to Virginia, with frequent stops along the way for him to find abandoned gas stations and get them food. He hadn't seen any of the people infected with the virus up close yet, and he did his best to stay in the car as much as possible, parking in out of the way spots to get as much sleep as he could.

Morgan had gone quiet after the second day in the car, apparently understanding that this was bad. That things were strange and scary and that Peter was doing the best he could. He did find her a couple of picture books at one convenience store, along with some juice that he filled his backpack with, trying not to feel guilty about stealing...trying not to think of May or the Avengers or Mr. Stark or the fact that he might be making the wrong choice. What if Mr. Stark had wanted them to stay in New York? What if he couldn't find them?

But Peter knew vaguely where Mr. Stark and Pepper had been...he knew that they'd been in Atlanta talking with people from the CDC and that he could get them to Atlanta. Maybe Mr. Stark was still there. Maybe.

The pickup truck ran out of gas on an abandoned highway in a city called Lawrenceville which, according to a map he'd been using from a gas station, left him about 40 miles from Atlanta. Never mind that he had no idea where in Atlanta Mr. Stark was, or if they were even still there. He had to find them. Had to get their daughter back to them. And then...and then he could worry about himself.

Morgan slept on his back, and he wasn't surprised. After days in a vehicle, they'd been walking for almost six hours along the highway. She'd given up after one, falling fast asleep in minutes. He hoped she was okay. Hoped she wasn't dehydrated. Hoped she wasn't malnourished. Hoped he was taking care of her okay. He knew how to babysit. How to look after Morgan for a few hours or even a day or two. But this was different. He'd been trying to find food for her...had gone hungry more than once to make sure she had enough. Had chatted with her as much as he could while trying to focus on driving and finding his way to Georgia, where he'd never been.

What if he'd let Tony down?

He brought an arm up, patting Morgan on the back. She was okay, he reminded himself. Morgan was fine and he was going to get her to her father. To _their_ father.

He spotted the man an hour later. His legs hurt so much and he felt weak with hunger. In his determination to get to Atlanta, he had, more than once, skipped meals, something Mr. Stark always scolded him for, but it didn't seem all that important now. Not when he had only one priority...get Morgan to safety. He'd been thinking about climbing the side of a building and finding a roof to sleep on for the night when he spotted the man...and when the man spotted him.

One look told Peter that this guy was infected. Even through his exhaustion and sluggish brain, he knew that much. He went still, not even daring to breathe as the man stared at him, mouth covered in blood, open sores exposed on his arms and bare torso. This wasn't a person, Peter reminded himself. Mr. Stark had showed him how the virus worked. Had explained it in painstaking detail just in case Peter came into contact with one of them. "They're already dead, Pete. No brain function associated with actual human life. All they want to do is eat and kill."

Peter had still been reluctant, and Mr. Stark had been able to tell. He'd grabbed Peter by the shoulders then, looking deadly serious. "I need you to listen to me, Pete. If you run into one of those things and you can't get away, I want you to kill it. By any means necessary. I mean it, Peter. That is an order. If it's between you and one of those...things, I need you to pick yourself every time. Understand?"

So Peter had nodded, and Mr. Stark had brought a hand up to cup his cheek, eyes softening. "I don't think it's going to come to that though, kiddo. They're working on a vaccine. Everything's going to be okay."

He stared at the man now, praying that if he was just still enough, the man would go back to what he'd been doing, whatever the hell that was. He prayed that Morgan wouldn't wake up and that he could find a rooftop and…

Morgan's piercing scream deafened him, making him jerk in surprise, turning to find another one approaching at a sprint, and another on his left. Peter turned and ran, ignoring the pounding in his head and the heaviness of his body...the way his vision darkened a little at the corners, and how heavy Morgan had gotten. The little girl kept screaming and all of his oxygen was going towards keeping his body moving...he couldn't spare any to tell her to be quiet. He ran toward the closest building, crying out in pain when one of them grabbed his arm with superhuman strength, yanking hard, and sinking its teeth into his flesh through the suit, tearing and ripping. Peter's scream joined Morgan's then, and all he knew for a moment was the pain.

But they were closing around him. He didn't have time!

Peter aimed at the closest building and shot what must have been the last of his web fluid. It was enough to yank them both a few feet in the air, and he grabbed the building, pulling himself up and climbing as quickly as he could, ignoring the noises they made below him.

His knees buckled as soon as they reached the roof of the three story building, just barely catching himself on his hands before they, too, gave way, sending him sprawling on his face.

"Petey!" Morgan was crying on his back, struggling to get out of the sling, and she must have done it because the next thing he knew, she was shaking his shoulder.

"Mo…" he started, but his arm burned in pain from where it was pressed to the hot roof, and he couldn't hold back a sob. "Sorry...Mo…"

Tiny fingers slipped under his mask and pulled none too gently, getting his mask off and dropping it beside him. "Petey! Get up! Up!"

It had bitten him. He had the virus. He needed to get to another roof...but he couldn't leave Morgan. He needed to get up. Put her somewhere safe. But where was safe? Where could he put her that he couldn't get her when he finally succumbed to the virus? Tears filled his eyes, and another sob escaped, shaking his whole body. He'd never see Mr. Stark again. What if Morgan died up here? She was only four...how was she supposed to understand any of this?

But Peter couldn't do anything about any of it...couldn't force his body to move or make himself answer Morgan. Instead, he closed his eyes, the steady throbbing pain in his arm never letting up, until the world went black.

He didn't wake until the pain ratcheted up to 100, making him scream and thrash against the hands that held him. "It's okay...buddy...hey, you're okay."

"Tony? Is that…"

"Get Morgan out of here. I'll be right behind you! Radio Natasha. Tell her we found them."

The voices were so familiar, but Peter couldn't place them. All he knew was the pain in his arm until something was placed against his mouth. "Open up, Pete. Come on...it's water. You have to drink, buddy." He didn't know what that meant, but as soon as something wet dribbled onto his lips, he opened his mouth, swallowing reflexively and nearly choking. "There you go. You're okay...you're okay…"

"Da…?" Peter had never called Mr. Stark that. No aloud. But the word escaped anyway, and a cool hand brushed over his cheek.

"It's me, Pete...it's Tony. Mr. Stark. I'm right here."

"It...bit…"

"I know. I know, baby. But you're going to be okay. I'm going to get you back to the CDC and…"

"No...get Mo...not safe…"

"Morgan's safe. Thanks to you. She's with Pepper. They're on their way back. You did so good, Pete...so good. You saved her life. Got her almost all the way to me. Thank you." The hand brushed over his cheek again, and Peter gritted his teeth as another wave of pain ripped its way through his body. "I know it hurts. I had to clean out the wound. Just let me wrap it and…"

"Leave me."

Mr. Stark froze at the words, and Peter finally forced his eyes open, all too aware of the tears filling them that spilled over down his cheeks.

"You have to...I'm...infected."

Mr. Stark leaned down, his own eyes filled with tears, but he didn't acknowledge them. Not even when they ran down his face. "I will never leave you. Not ever. You're my kid and I love you and I will not abandon you. I'm going to get you back to the CDC and I am going to get you through this. Do you understand me?"

Peter clenched his teeth, trying to fight the sob, but he couldn't, not when Mr. Stark pulled him upright and held him in his metal-covered arms.

"I was so scared, Pete. They bombed New York...hell, the whole north east. I didn't know if you were safe...if Morgan was safe. I didn't know if you got to the panic room in time…" His voice broke, and he brought a hand up to run roughly through Peter's hair. "I love you so much, kiddo. So much." The man pressed a kiss to the side of his head, then pulled away just enough to brush a tear away. "Let me wrap your arm, and then we're going to get you somewhere safe. Okay?"

Peter nodded, feeling his eyes start to droop. But it was okay now. Everything was okay. Mr. Stark was there.


	13. Kidnapped

**Prompt: Peter and Tony are kidnapped**

"Listen to me, I'm not going to do anything with him here."

The voice was so close, and Peter flinched, trying to turn his head and find the source. He knew that voice…knew the person behind it. But his brain was a pile of mush and he couldn't make any kind of connections…could only struggle to turn his head or move his fingers or toes, none of which seemed to be cooperating.

"Let him go. I'll stay. I'll do whatever you want but you have to let him go." The voice was soft and reasonable, and Peter searched his mind for why or how or when…any kind of explanation to what was happening. He couldn't remember…couldn't force his brain to bring up any images or thoughts. He was…laying down. Everything hurt. His whole body ached. Specifically his chest. Something in his chest hurt so bad and he managed a noise…just a groan, but the voice spoke again.

"Just…leave him here. We can go somewhere else and…and if you just let me signal to the team they can pick him up and I'll…"

The next noise wasn't a voice. It was a strange, dull thwack, and then a grunt. Someone spitting.

"He's waking up, boss." He didn't know who that was, but footsteps approached and something sharp stabbed him in the arm, making him flinch and release a soft, pained whine.

"Hey! What are you giving him? He's just a kid! Leave him…"

Another noise. More grunting. More yelling. But Peter felt heat rush over him and that left him drained and exhausted, so against his will he found himself in the darkness once more.

"Underoos? Come on…come on, Spiderling. Come on. Open your eyes…please kid, you have to work with me!" A voice hissed, a hand tapping his face. Not hard…not slapping him. But they were insistent, and Peter found himself suddenly able to open his eyes. "Hey! Good….hey, kid…you with me?"

"Ma…Mssr…" His mouth opened, making strange noises, but Peter couldn't manage the words he was trying to find.

"You're on some heavy shit, kid. But you're going to be fine. Okay? You're fine. Just…stay awake."

Awake. He needed to stay awake. Doing his best to keep his eyes open, Peter nodded, swallowing hard and flinching at his dry mouth. Bringing a shaky hand up, he tried to touch his head…it ached and throbbed and he wanted to move but he could barely bring his hand up, much less coordinate his whole body.

Why was he with Mr. Stark?

He hadn't seen Mr. Stark in…in months? At least three. The man had checked in a few times, sending him a text to make sure the suit was working okay, but that was about it. "Kid? Stay with me," Mr. Stark urged again, and Peter blinked, surprised to find his eyes had drifted shut.

"Mkay."

A door opened again, and Mr. Stark shifted, standing up. Peter was…he was on the floor, he realized. Why was he lying on the floor? Why was he so cold? The footsteps approached, and another door opened with a painfully loud creak. "Are you ready to cooperate?"

"I already told you. I'm not doing anything with him here. Let him go and…"

A grunt filled the room, and Mr. Stark was thrown backwards against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting, and for the first time Peter was able to focus on his face. On the bruises. They'd hit him…they'd hurt Mr. Stark! Peter pressed a hand to the ground, trying to push himself up. He had to save Mr. Stark! He had powers and Mr. Stark didn't have his suit and…

A foot slammed into his side, sending him sprawling, a choked off scream filling the air, and it took him a minute to realize that it was him…that he was the one screaming. He bit down hard on his lip, fighting a sob at the burning in his chest that only hurt more. "Stay down, you little shit," the gruff voice warned, pressing a foot to his chest and pinning him to the floor.

"Leave him alone! He's just a kid! Hey! I'm the one you wanted!"

Why had they wanted Mr. Stark? Why didn't Mr. Stark just stay quiet? The questions swirled around in his mind, but then the foot pulled back again, hitting him right in the side where the pain had been growing, and Peter felt himself losing the fight with unconsciousness.

When he woke again, he was somewhere different…or…something was different. He was still cold. His chest still hurt, and he brought a hand up to press against the place where the pain was the worst. "Easy…easy Underoos. You're okay." Mr. Stark's voice was hoarse, and if Peter hadn't known any better, he would have said the many had been crying. It took him a moment to figure out why he felt different…he was being held. Mr. Stark had pulled him into his lap, head resting on his shoulder like he was a toddler, and was rocking him back and forth.

"You're okay. It's going to be okay." The man's hand rubbed up and down his back before moving up to his head and running gently through his curls. "Pete? You with me?"

Mr. Stark looked different. His face was black and blue, one eye swollen almost shut, and he had a cut on the side of his head that made his hair darker with blood. The room they were in was a little lighter than before, and when Peter looked up at the window high on the wall, covered in bars, he could see the sun.

"Peter? Kid, c'mon. Talk to me. Please, kiddo…"

"Wha…what time is it?" he asked, surprised that his mouth was working this time, forming the words a little easier.

"Sun's coming up, so maybe seven?"

It was strange, the soft way that Mr. Stark spoke to him, and the way that his fingers ran through his hair, gently working out tangles. Strange…but nice. He had assumed that Mr. Stark was upset with him for turning down his offer to join the Avengers. Or…if not upset, at least a little put out. But now, the man looked afraid. Was he afraid for Peter?

"Do you remember what happened?"

Peter shook his head. He couldn't remember anything except for this room…and maybe patrolling. There was no in-between.

"You were out patrolling and these guys managed to take you down using some kind of toxin…I'm not sure what. They've been keeping you drugged but I haven't seen them in a few hours. How do you feel?"

"My chest hurts." Usually he would have tried to downplay it, but his heart was pounding uncomfortably, making breathing harder.

"They were kicking you…" Mr. Stark trailed off, sounding as though just the words hurt him, and then he pressed two fingers to Peter's throat. "It sounds like your heart rate is slowing down a little. That might help." He rubbed his hand vigorously up and down Peter's arm as if trying to warm him up. "I think they might have broken one of your ribs."

"Where are we?"

"I don't know, buddy. I came looking for you and…" He trailed off for a moment, sighing and shifting so that Peter's head rested more securely on his arm. "It was a trap. You were unconscious. They'd dropped you by the river but when I got to you…I guess they drugged me too."

The river…Peter didn't remember that. "Are you okay?" he asked, considering sitting up and then deciding against it. Mr. Stark was warm and he desperately wanted to be warm.

Mr. Stark huffed out a laugh. "I'm fine, Pete."

It wasn't long before the door opened again, and Mr. Stark tensed, his arms tightening around Peter, a hand pressing his head to Mr. Stark's shoulder. "You ready to cooperate, Stark?"

"I already told you, I…"

Mr. Stark was cut off when an arm grabbed Peter's, and, thinking fast, Peter let himself go limp as though he were asleep.

"Hey! Get off him!" Mr. Stark scrambled to get up, but something must have stopped him. A gun?

"How about we up the ante here? Give you an incentive to work with us." Something cold pressed to the side of his head, and Peter knew instinctively what it was. "I tried playing nice. But I'm done. You tell us what we want to know or I blow Spider-Man's brain's out. What do you say?"

"If you hurt my kid…"

"You have until I get to one."

"I swear, I'll give you whatever you want but you have to…"

"Three…"

"If you hurt him I'll…"

"Two…"

Peter decided that two was far enough and, pulling from every ounce of energy he had left, he opened his eyes and shot an arm out, catching the man's wrist and ducking just a little as the sound of a gunshot made his ears ring. He saw Mr. Stark's eyes go wide, mouth open in what Peter assumed was a scream, but he couldn't hear anything over the ringing in his own ears.

It didn't matter. He had to get them out of this.

Twisting on instinct, Peter pulled back his fist and, ignoring the throbbing in his side, he hit the man who had been holding him hard enough that he went down, then ducked again, twisting out of the way as more gunfire filled the air. Pushing off the ground hard, he landed sideways on the wall, them jumped again, tackling the second armed man, bringing back a fist and knocking him out.

His senses screamed at him and he rolled, flinching when he rolled around to face the second man, now bleeding from bullet wounds to his chest. A third man tracked him with a huge gun and Peter lept, clinging to the ceiling, then the wall, then finally landed behind the man's back, wrapping an arm around his throat. Mr. Stark jumped up then, a fist slamming into the man's face, then, as Peter tightened his grip on the man's throat, Mr. Stark tackled the fourth man as he came into the room, wrestling the gun away and bringing the barrel down on the man's face until he was still.

The man in Peter's grip went slack and Peter dropped him, watching as he fell to the floor, then turned to Mr. Stark who was hurrying toward him, a hand pressed to the side of Peter's head. His ears still rang too loudly for him to hear, but Mr. Stark's hand came back bloody, and he began to speak so quickly that Peter couldn't read his lips.

Peter shook his head, swaying a little, but staying on his feet, and Mr. Stark hurried to steady him. After a moment, Mr. Stark tapped on his arm, and it only took Peter a second to catch on.

"Morse code?"

Peter nodded, then put his hand on Mr. Stark's shoulder.

"Can't hear."

"Bullet grazed you. Close to your ear." Mr. Stark tapped out, then rubbed a hand over Peter's arm.

"Can we leave?" Peter tapped, swallowing hard and wishing more than anything for a cup of water.

Mr. Stark smiled a little then, squeezing Peter's shoulder. "Let's go."


	14. The Sweet and the Poison

**Prompt: Tony and Peter find out that he is allergic to peppermint**

Tony stared out the huge front window of the Compound, hands clasped behind his back, doing his best to appear nonchalant as he turned with a brief smile for the two staff members who hurried by, both giving him a quick nod before turning back to whatever important conversation they'd been having. There had been a lot of that since the battle in Germany...since Cap and the others had split. Now it was just him and his fiancee at the Compound most days, along with Vision, who had been taking more and more extended trips, and Happy who stopped by once a week or so. Rhodey came by when he could, but otherwise, Tony had to admit, there were days when he missed the old team.

And then he thought about Captain Self-Righteous and theTV showing the murder of his parents and the lies...so many lies...and that's when he thought that maybe this was better. Sure , he'd been a bit premature, offering a fifteen-year-old a spot on the Avengers, but the kid would get there. Peter hadn't exactly said 'no.' At least, not for forever. He'd said that he wanted to stay on the ground for a little bit. And that was fine. It was to be expected, in hindsight. The kid had just saved his ass, taking down the Vulture on his own and not only recovering the plane full of Avengers tech, but also going out of his way to make sure Toomes had lived. All on the night of his Homecoming dance.

So yeah, maybe the kid needed a break.

But, while placing the Iron Spider suit into a compartment in his lab, ready to be called if he ever needed it in a hurry, Tony had started thinking. Sure, the kid wanted to lay low and stay on the ground...but that didn't mean that Tony couldn't try his hand at this whole mentorship thing. Right? The kid still liked him and had easily accepted his almost-apology when Happy had brought him to the Compound. And he hadn't even gotten to give the kid a tour of the place. The kid would like a tour and maybe even to work with him in the lab...surely.

A tiny part of Tony had been expecting Peter to say no when he'd called him a few days ago. He'd checked with Karen before calling, having Friday connect with her so that he could make sure Peter wasn't in the middle of any crime fighting. Karen had cheerfully assured him that Peter was currently sitting on a fire escape and eating a sandwich, and so, after taking a moment to be bemused at the fact that Peter's AI called him 'Mr. Stark,' he had given the kid a ring.

"Hey, uh...Mr. Stark? Is everything...is everything okay?" Peter had answered, sounding almost frightened.

"Everything's fine, kid. How's Queens?"

"Oh, uh...great. Everything here is great. I uh...I stopped calling Happy with updates. You know...I think he was...I mean, I'm sure he's really busy so he probably didn't have time to listen anyway."

The embarrassment in Peter's voice had made Tony's heart clench, and he'd blurted the next words out without thinking too much about it. "Did he not tell you? I did some restructuring. You can go ahead and just have Karen send those to me. I thought I told Happy to let you know. Sorry, Pete."

A full minute of stunned silence had passed, and Tony had started to rethink that particular choice when Peter had spoken again, voice soft and hesitant. "You...you really….I mean, I don't want to bug you, Mr. Stark. If you…"

"That's an order, kid. I need to know what the friendly neighborhood Spiderling is getting up to since I'm upstate now."

"Oh. Okay, um...if you're sure."

"I am. Now, what are you doing Friday?"

"School…" Peter had informed him as though it were a trick question, and Tony had rolled his eyes, a reluctantly fond smile turning the corners of his mouth.

"After school, kid."

"Oh. Uh, I was just going on patrol and then I'll probably get take-out. May's working an overnight shift so...nothing much. What, uh...what are you doing, Mr. Stark?"

Tony had snorted at the kid's innate politeness, that fond smile blooming in full. "I was thinking about having my intern come up to the Compound and take a tour of the place. Maybe even do some work in the lab."

"Oh, that's really cool, Mr. Stark. I didn't know you really had interns." There had been nothing contrived about the boy's voice, and Tony had wiped a hand over his face and bit back a sigh. This kid.

"I'm talking about you, Pete," Tony had told him, deadpan, that damned smile still on his face.

"Me?"

"Do you want to come up to the Compound on Friday, Underoos?"

"I...yeah, Mr. Stark! That would be amazing! You...wait, you said intern?"

"I did indeed. Friday will pick you up after school, kiddo. See you then."

And with a chuckle, he'd ended the call.

Now he second-guessed himself, shoving his hands in his pockets and trying to appear less stressed than he actually was. What the hell did he know about being a mentor? How was he supposed to keep the kid entertained on his own for hours? Or, well...however long he stayed. Tony honestly had no idea. All he knew was that Happy would be on standby and ready to take the kid home at the end of this experience.

Just as the car pulled into the drive, footsteps approached, and a young man carrying a cardboard coffee carrier hurried up to him. "Mr. Stark? We were out of chocolate syrup. Is peppermint okay?"

Well, Tony thought as he took the carrier, it was December. "That's fine. Thanks, Roman." He was sure that, as long as the drink was sweet and full of sugar, Peter would enjoy it. He plucked his own black coffee out of the carrier, grateful for the little cafeteria downstairs that served all of the workers. He tended to make his own coffee, but had thought the kid's internship ought to come with some perks. Free sugary coffee couldn't hurt, especially after a full day spent in high school.

Tony carried the coffees over to the lobby and waited for Peter to come bounding in. Instead, the kid stopped at the door, glanced back at Happy as if unsure he was allowed to be here, then, taking a deep breath and throwing his backpack more firmly over his shoulder, he pushed the door open, then stopped short when he saw Tony.

"Hey kiddo, how was school?" he asked, then wondered if he sounded like a soccer dad.

Peter seemed to relax a little at his words though, smiling that endearing, puppy smile. "It was good. How was your day, Mr. Stark?"

"Pretty good. Here. Thought you might need some caffeine after a day spent locked away with other teenagers. Peppermint okay? They were out of chocolate."

"Oh...thanks!" The kid relaxed a little more, shoulders coming down from his ears, and he wrapped his hands around the drink, which reminded Tony that the kid was probably cold. "I haven't ever had this one before. They always run out before I'm able to get it."

Tony took a gulp of his own coffee, making a mental note to get the kid fancy coffee every time. "Alright, Pete. Let's start the tour in the lab, huh?"

"Sounds great!"

And, feeling just a little awkward, Tony put a hand on his shoulder, gave it a firm pat, then led Peter over to the elevator. The boy took a sip of the coffee, shivering a little under Tony's arm, and Tony made a mental note to have Friday turn the head up when they got to the lab. The kid was wearing a coat and a scarf wrapped around his neck, so he figured he would warm up soon.

"So, I thought we'd try to make this internship thing a little more...concrete. What do you think?" he asked, turning to Peter who was leaning against the elevator wall. Clearing his throat, Peter nodded, swallowing hard, then taking another sip of the coffee.

"Yeah, that...that would be incredible!"

"Yeah?" Tony smiled a little, feeling his chest loosen a little. This didn't have to be awkward, he reminded himself. This was Peter Parker. This wasn't Steve or Natasha...he could trust Peter. He could let the kid in, just a little. It was safe. Bringing a hand absently to his chest, hit suddenly with the unwelcome memory of Steve's shield slamming into his chest, Tony quickly aborted the gesture, then glanced at Peter to make sure he hadn't caught it. But Peter wasn't looking at him. He was pressing a hand to his own chest, and clearing his throat once more. "Pete? You good?"

"Yeah...yeah, just…" Peter coughed once, then twice, taking another long drink of his coffee. "I'm fine." The kid gave him a strained smile and Tony nodded, not at all convinced.

Before Tony could ask again, the elevator doors opened, depositing them into Tony's lab. He stepped forward, lifting his arm in a grand gesture, sure the kid was going to be excited and ready to share that excitement. "Alright, kiddo, this my personal lab. What do you think?"

Behind him, Peter was silent, and he tossed the kid, who had stepped into the room, a quick grin. The kid was stock still, eyes wide as he looked at Tony and the room.

"Over here, we've got the Iron Man suits." Tony turned and gestured with his coffee. I've been trying to figure out nanotech, so hopefully I'll be able to get started on a new suit soon. I'm thinking of calling it bleeding edge. And over here is my work station. Feel free to look around. And beside my workstation, I set you up…"

"Mr. Stark?" The voice that interrupted him was breathless and apologetic all at once, and he turned to find Peter in the same spot he'd left him, cheeks flushed, a hand pressed to his chest, wide-eyes pleading with Tony. Tony stared at the boy, taking in his flushed face and open mouth with a growing concern as he put his drink down.

"Pete?"

"I...Mr. Stark, I can't breathe…" As soon as the words were out, the cup fell from Peter's hand as if in slow motion, hitting the ground and spilling about half of the cup of coffee all over the floor. But Tony barely noticed that as the boy gagged, then leaned over and vomited on the floor.

Swearing aloud, Tony raced to his side and caught his arm right as his knees buckled.

"Sorry...sorry...Mr. Stark...sorry…" Peter wheezed, blinking rapidly as he swayed.

"Okay...shit...okay…" Tony rambled, getting an arm around the kid to hold him up. Steering him carefully, he led him over to the sofa at the edge of the room where he'd been known to take naps, easing Peter down and putting his hands firmly on the kid's shoulders. "Kid? Talk to me. What's going on?"

"I don't...don't know. Mr. Stark...I can't…" The wheezing was getting louder, and Tony watched in horror as tears pooled in the boy's eyes and dripped down his cheek. Pulling his sleeve over his hand, Tony wiped at the kid's mouth, cleaning him up and holding him upright with a hand firm on his shoulder. At a loss, he pressed his fingers to Peter's throat, wincing when the boy's puse raced unevenly.

Peter couldn't breathe. Peter Parker was in his lab and he'd invited the kid over to do some kind of internship with him because the kid was brilliant and good and had so much potential and now he couldn't breathe!

The boy lifted a hand and dropped it onto Tony's arm, lips trembling as he wheezed, and never in his life had Tony felt so helpless. So useless.

"Mr...Mr. Stark?" Peter begged, and Tony felt his own eyes fill with tears. No. This wasn't happening. It didn't make any sense.

"Just...okay...hold on, buddy. You're okay. Just…" Tony stammered. Why wasn't his brain working?

"Sir, I've alerted emergency personnel. Dr. Rodrigez is on her way. It appears that Peter is going into anaphylactic shock."

That, finally, shook Tony out of his stupor, and he reached forward, easing Peter back against the back of the sofa and tilting his head back. "Okay...keep breathing. Just...try to breathe, Pete. Help is on the way. You're…" His words were immediately cut off when Peter's body jerked, fingers digging holes into his sofa...but there was no more wheezing. The lab was suddenly, unnaturally silent, and something was ringing in Tony's ears. "No...no, Peter!" Tony shook him just a little, then jammed his fingers into the kid's neck. His pulse was even weaker...uneven beats barely there under Tony's fingers, and his huge brown eyes pleaded with Tony even as his body jerked again, desperate for air. "You're okay...you're okay, Pete. Hold on! Friday!"

"The medical team is on their way to the elevator."

Peter made a noise...something like a desperate whine as his eyes fluttered, and Tony gripped his arm, trying to ground him. "What do I do!"

"An epi pen may decrease his symptoms although with his mutation…"

Epi pen. Pepper was allergic to strawberries. He'd put epi pens in every room she might be in, just in case!

"Where is it? Shit!" He left Peter's side, not allowing himself to look when the boy slumped to the side, head dropping to his chest. "Friday! Where's the fucking epi pen?"

"Bottom left drawer of…" Before Friday could even finish that sentence, it came to him, his brain clearing of just a little of the panic. Racing over to the wall unit of drawers, he yanked the bottom left drawer open, grabbed the little orange device, then raced back over to Peter, tripping on his own feet on the way.

"The medical team is in the elevator," Friday informed him gravely as Tony dropped to his knees at Peter's side, pulling the cap off, then slamming it down onto Peter's thigh through the top of his jeans. Counting slowly, he reached up and gripped Peter's hand, heart stuttering when the boy's hand lay limp in his own.

"One," he whispered, voice hoarse with the tears he refused to let fall. "Two. Three." He removed the epi pen then, dropping it and gently massaging his hands over the place where he'd slammed the pen hard enough into his thigh that he was sure the boy would have a bruise. But Tony didn't care. All he cared about was the wheezing sound that once more filled the room, Peter's eyes fluttering a little once more as he struggled to breathe again. "There you go...I know...I know it hurts, bud. The med team is on their way. You're okay...you're okay, honey. It's okay." Tony had no idea where the words came from, or even what they were. All he knew was that Peter was breathing again, his hand giving Tony's a tentative squeeze, eyes opening to search for him. "I'm here. I'm right here, Underoos. It's okay. Try to breathe. You're okay."

The elevator doors flew open then, Dr. Rachel Rodriguez racing through with three people in scrubs that Tony didn't recognize, all pushing a gurney. "Tony?" She demanded, pressing her fingers to Peter's throat and glancing at her watch.

"His name's Peter. He just...he stopped breathing."

"Any known allergies?"

"No, I mean...I don't know."

"Peter?" she asked as the nurses readied the gurney. "Do you have any food allergies that you know of?"

Peter gave a weak shake of his head, still wheezing.

"Okay. We're going to get you to the medbay. We'll give you something to help you breathe, okay?" She didn't wait for the boy to agree, instead pulling the gurney closer, but before they could try to lift him, Tony stepped in, slipping a hand under Peter's knees and around his back.

"Alright, Underoos. Next stop on the tour, the medbay. It's very nice, I promise. You're going to be just fine, buddy. I've got you."

Peter's lips turned up in a half smile, eyes struggling to focus on Tony as he eased him onto the gurney.

"What was the last thing he ate?" Dr. Rodriguez asked then, the nurses moving to wrap a blood pressure cuff around him and attach a pulse monitor to his finger.

"Um...I don't know. I guess he ate lunch at school?"

Peter nodded in the affirmative, obviously struggling to keep up with the conversation. They stepped into the elevator, Tony squeezing in too, not caring if he was in the way.

"And, uh….coffee. A peppermint latte. With whipped cream."

"Your AI mentioned an enhancement?" The doctor asked, her voice no-nonsense as she pulled a tablet out of her pocket and typed something in.

"He's...yeah, he's…" Tony stopped when Peter shook his head, making a noise under the oxygen mask being pressed to his face. "Hey, kiddo, it's okay. We can trust them. They work for me. Trust me, Pete, they won't tell anyone."

The boy opened his mouth to answer, but all he could do was give another wheeze, and he brought a hand up to touch his chest, jaw clenched in pain as he wheezed once more.

"Is he getting worse again?" Tony demanded.

"We need to get more medication in him. What kind of enhancement are we talking about?"

"Radioactive spider. Spider DNA fused with his...he's strong. Can stick to things. Probably enhanced metabolism."

The woman seemed to think for a minute, then nodded. "Right. Peppermint oil is commonly used to repel spiders. He might have had an allergic reaction."

And then they were on the medbay floor, practically running alongside the gurney as they took Peter toward a room and leaving Tony in the elevator with the knowledge that he'd just poisoned his new intern.

Knowing that he needed to give Dr. Rodriguez room to work and also refusing to leave Peter alone, Tony compromised by waiting outside the boy's room, leaning against the wall and sliding down until he was flat on the floor, legs outstretched. He had no idea how long he sat there, with nurses running in and out of Peter's room, giving him brief glimpses of the boy laying in a hospital bed, oxygen mask covering his face, a heart monitor beeping too loudly in the corner, before Happy appeared, standing over him and staring incredulously between Tony and the door to Peter's room.

"Boss? What the hell…"

"Anaphylactic shock," Tony whispered, shaking his head and feeling his own throat constrict. "He quit breathing."

"He quit...why?" Happy demanded, and Tony suddenly realized that he wasn't the only one the kid had grown on.

"I poisoned him."

His bodyguard and old friend just blinked, mouth open, and so Tony forced himself to explain. "I got him a coffee...peppermint latte. Hell, Hap, I thought...I didn't know he was allergic. He didn't either."

"You didn't poison him, Tony," Happy told him finally, moving to sit beside him on the floor. "It was an accident."

"I almost killed him. I just...he couldn't breathe and I froze. I couldn't think...Friday had to call for Rachel. I couldn't even do that. And the epi pen...I didn't...I couldn't think, Hap."

Happy cleared his throat, then dropped a hand on Tony's shoulder much like Tony had done to Peter the first day they'd met. For a moment, they were quiet. Then Happy spoke, clearly out of his element. "He's a really good kid."

"Yeah," Tony whispered, wiping impatiently at his eyes.

"I saw some of the stuff he does...on Youtube. People are always filming everything these days. You see the one where he stopped that van from hitting that bus?"

Tony nodded, sniffing and biting down hard on his lip.

"Kid's going to be one hell of a superhero."

"Yeah. He is."

"He's a tough kid. And, uh...he was really excited. About this whole internship thing. I...I screwed up, not answering the phone when he kept calling and then...then when I hung up on his friend. I told him that. Told him I screwed up and that if he needed me, I'd be around."

Tony lifted his head, sniffing again and lifting his eyebrows as Happy gave a disbelieving scoff.

"Kid told me it was fine. That he knew I was busy." Happy shook his head. "He's a good kid. A great kid. And he's already a great superhero. Anyway, I, uh...he's not going to blame you for this. And I think...with it just being him and his aunt, you know, I think being around you...you'll be good for each other, that's all."

Tony gave a half smile, lifting an eyebrow. "You think so, Hogan?"

"Yeah...yeah, I do. I always thought you'd make a good...mentor."

Tony dropped his head back against the wall, all sorts of retorts at the ready. How the hell did he know what to do with a kid? How was he supposed to be any kind of influence on Peter when his own father...not that he was Peter's father, but still. His own father had waited until after his own death to give Tony any kind of validation. He'd been abusive, emotionally and physically. He'd been absent. Neglectful. Had never even told Tony that he loved him.

But when Peter caught another glimpse of Peter Parker through the door before the nurse shut it once more, Tony felt something in him shift, just a little. He wouldn't be any of those things, he knew. He couldn't. Sure, he'd yelled at the kid. But he'd never wanted to hurt him. He'd never even considered lifting his hand to that boy. And today...didn't today, before the whole poisoning thing, prove something? He'd wanted to give Peter a tour and make him a real intern. He'd been looking forward to an afternoon with the kid.

Wasn't that something? Couldn't he just start with that?

When Dr. Rodriguez finally emerged, it was with a surprised smile to find him still on the floor. "Tony." The woman had been working for him for less than a year, but she was a close colleague of Helen Cho's and had come highly recommended. After watching her in action, he could see why.

"Rachel. How is he?"

"He's going to be fine." Tony deflated, not even bothering to try and stand, knowing that his legs wouldn't hold him. Beside him, Happy gave a sigh of his own, eyes closing as he nodded a little to himself. "I had to give him twice the usual dosage for someone his size, but he's breathing much better, and I think we can release him in another hour or so if he continues to improve. He needs to avoid peppermint in the future, of course, and I'd recommend getting a full allergy test to see if anything else might trigger a reaction."

"Yeah...of course. Thank you." Beside him, Happy pulled himself to his feet, then held a hand out to Tony. "Seriously, thank you so much."

Rachel smiled. "Just doing my job. You're welcome to sit with him if you'd like. He's conscious."

"Right...yeah. Thank you. Um…" He turned to Happy. "Can you call his aunt? Tell her that he's absolutely fine but also that he's allergic to peppermint...and that we're going to get him an allergy test to see what else he's allergic to now?"

"You got it boss. And...uh...Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell the kid...just...tell him I hope he feels better."

Tony smiled, giving his friend a quick nod. "Will do, Hap."

And then Tony was stepping into Peter's now-quiet hospital style room, the steady beeping telling him that the kid's heart rate was back on track. The boy's eyes were closed, but as soon as Tony approached, they fluttered open, and he gave a weak smile. The mask was gone, a nasal cannula in its place, the plastic winding under Peter's nose and around the sides of his face. "Hey, Mr. Stark. I'm sorr…"

"Nope." Tony cut him off, holding out a hand, then taking a seat. "No apologies. Not from you." Seeing the look on Peter's face, Tony softened his tone. "Me, on the other hand…"

"Mr. Stark, it wasn't your fault…"

"Don't care. I'm sorry, kid. Hell...I'm…" He ran a hand over his face, dropping his head and shaking it for a moment before forcing his gaze back to the boy he'd put in a hospital bed. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry about the stupid coffee and...and I'm sorry that I fucking froze and...and I just stood there…"

"Mr. Stark," Peter interrupted, reaching out and grabbing Tony's arm, his grip only a little stronger than it had been before. Tony pressed his lips together, some part of him waiting for the dismissal. For the request to go home and never come back.

But that wasn't Peter. That was his father's voice, and neither of them were anything like his father.

"It's okay. Really. I know it was an accident and I know you feel really bad but I promise, I'm okay. And...and I know it's really scary when someone…" He cut himself off, eyes dropping to the blankets before shooting back to Tony. "It's okay. It was just a dumb accident, and I'm fine. Promise. I heal really fast."

Tony couldn't help the smile as he moved his hand to catch Peter's, squeezing gently. "You're really okay? You can breathe and everything?"

Peter laughed a little. "Yeah. I can breathe and everything."

"Okay. Good." Tony found himself rubbing his thumb over the back of Peter's knuckles and almost stopped...but the kid didn't seem to mind. On the contrary, he hadn't looked so relaxed since stepping foot in the Compound. "Right. So, here's the plan. Once Rachel clears you, we're going to finish the tour. First, I'm going to show you the kitchen counter which will be covered in the take-out containers that I'm about to order." Peter's lips turned up into a lazy smile, a yawn that he half-heartedly tried to cover escaping. "And after that," Tony went on, lowering his voice. "I'm going to show you the living room couch and the TV because that's about all I can handle today. What do you think, Pete?"

"Sounds…" Peter yawned again, eyes closing, and Tony knew that his healing made him tired, so he just continued to rub his thumb over Peter's knuckles. "Sounds really good, Mr. Stark."

Feeling affection and hope twining together in his chest, Tony placed the boy's hand back on the bed, some instinct making him pull the blanket up around his shoulders, and then lean back, ready to wait out the kid's power nap. "Good deal, Spiderling."

**Thank you for reading! **


	15. Brainwashed

**Prompt: Tony has to fight a brainwashed Peter**

Nearly everyone thought Tony should give up.

Bruce was the first to say it aloud, at least where he could hear, and even though part of Tony hated him for that, another part of him, underneath all the pain, could almost understand. He knew that it was hard to see him like this. He knew that none of them wanted to give up, but that giving up was easier. That moving on was what most people would be expected to do after four months. But when the words came out of Bruce's mouth, Tony nearly shattered the glass he was holding. Instead of answering the reasonable point that it had been four months with no sign of the boy, Tony had stood from the kitchen island, leaving the glass full of whiskey on the countertop, reminding himself that he didn't want to fight with Bruce…and that he didn't drink anymore.

Natasha was a little less direct, keeping him updated on their seemingly-fruitless search in between spending time with Clint's family, helping out wherever she could. He didn't begrudge her that…truly he didn't. He heard Sam and Bucky discuss it with one another, voices low but just loud enough to carry from the living room when he was passing by, on his way to his lab after tucking Morgan into bed. Morgan, who never stopped asking where her big brother was. Sometimes he wondered what Steve would have said if the man hadn't fucked off to the past and left them all to it.

It took May six months to suggest a funeral, her voice obviously slurred on the phone. That night he hadn't answered, just sent Pepper over to be with her.

Tony hadn't even been there. Hadn't been with Peter when the kid had been taken. And there was no trail. Spider-Man had simply swung into a an alley and never come out. All video surveillance had been wiped the moment he'd entered the alley, mask focused on something Tony hadn't been able to see in the footage. Someone had taken him and his suite and they'd wiped the baby monitor footage, a term that had always made Peter roll his eyes, both before and after the snap…both before and after being gone for five full years.

Tony had just gotten him back. He'd only gotten another year with his boy and now…

He clenched the hand of his metal arm into fist tightly enough that it actually hurt. The prosthetic was some of Shuri's best work, and even though he appreciated the full range of motion he now had, he'd give it all back, go back to that battlefield where he'd been sure he was going to die, every nerve in his body screaming out in pain, if only he could have Peter back.

How could he move on again? How was he supposed to survive losing his son for the second time? How was he supposed to explain to Morgan that her big brother was gone again. That this time, they were going to hold a funeral that she could attend and that they all had to say goodbye when they didn't even know…Tony dropped his head into his flesh and blood hand and closed his eyes as tightly as he could, doing everything he could to fight the tears. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fucking fair. Around him, his lab was in chaos, papers thrown in the corner and things swept out of the way and onto the floor to make room for frantic work…desperate searching and even more desperate begging screaming praying…anything to get his kid back.

Tony had been in the lab for eight hours when Morgan came down, running down the steps in her little footie pajamas and sobbing, crying out for him. Why hadn't Friday told him that she needed him.

Brushing away his own tears as best he could, the ones that fell only when he was in the lab alone, Friday on alert for visitors, he turned to her, slipping off the stool and trying to push thoughts of her brother away. "Hey..Morguna, what's wrong?" he asked, kneeling down to scoop her up, an action made easier by the metal arm.

"He…he's mad…at me!" The six-year-old sobbed, burying her face in his shoulder, and Tony felt a surge of protectiveness go through him as instinctual as his desperation to find Peter.

"Who's mad at you, baby?" he asked, going through his mind to remember who all was at the tower. He knew that Nat was around, probably training with Sam and Bucky. Otherwise, the place was empty. Pepper was in a meeting…or…had been? He checked his watch. Had been in a meeting. Now she was probably…had she tucked Morgan into bed? Where was Pepper? Who would be angry at Morgan? His brain was fuzzy from a lack of sleep and he vaguely remembered Pepper bringing him a plate of dinner earlier. One glance at the table by the door confirmed that…and it was still there, still covered by a plastic dome.

"Peter!"

The name brought him up short like it did every single time he heard it from another person's mouth. For a moment, fresh agony ripped through his chest and he had to close his eyes and breathe through it. Peter. Peter. Peter. "What? Why do you think he's mad at you?" Tony wondered if she'd had a nightmare…or if she'd just upset herself while playing a game of pretend. It wasn't the first time something like that had happened…although never with Peter. Morgan never thought Peter was upset with her.

"He told me to go away! He looked really strange but I was happy to see him after so long so I tried to hug him but he looked at me and he was shaking and he told me to go away!"

Tony's arms shook as they held his crying daughter against his side. "Baby…" he started, his voice a whisper. "It's really important that you tell me the truth about something, okay?"

She sniffed and gave a quick nod.

"Did you pretend to see Peter, or did you really see him?"

Morgan wiped a hand over her eyes which had gone wide and earnest. "I really saw him. He's upstairs."

"Friday?" Tony asked, looking up, but there was no response. "Fri?"

"I couldn't get Friday to talk to me," she whispered.

"Okay…" Tony swallowed hard, putting her down on the sofa. "Okay, baby…I'm going to go see what's wrong with Peter," he murmured, chest aching as he spoke. "Can you stay here?"

"Why was he mad at me?"

"I don't know…" Tony backed away, pointing to the couch. "You stay right there, okay?" The little girl gave a solemn nod. Turning and hurrying back toward the door, he shut it behind him, praying that his daughter would listen to him for once as he raced up the stairs.

Peter…how could Peter…surely the kid couldn't really…

Tony shook his head as he raced up the stairs. Why would Peter sneak into the tower? What had happened to him? What if it wasn't Peter? What if what if what if…

Tony burst through the door to the living quarters, eyes immediately landing on the boy standing by the sofa. The tears that came to Tony's eyes were immediate as they made his vision blur, something in him finally relaxing after so long. Peter. His boy. Peter was home! He took a staggering step forward, placing his metal hand against the wall. "Peter," he whispered, voice coming out a sob, but the kid, who stood with one hand resting on the sofa, head down, didn't look up. As Tony took another step, he realized that Peter was shaking, his whole body trembling. "Pete? Buddy…hey…it's okay. It's okay, buddy. You're home now." Tony took another step, then another, rushing to Peter's side and ignoring the usual aches that made movement painful now that he was old and now that half of his body was covered in scars. "You're okay. You're home. Can you tell me…" Tony choked on his words, jaw dropping when he got closer. "Pete?"

Peter's face was blank as he stared at the ground, lips pressed together, head bobbing up and down a little as he stood stiffly beside the sofa, fingers digging into the cushion.

"Peter?" Tony lowered his voice, reaching out, and as soon as his fingers made contact with his shoulder, Peter's head snapped up, turning to look at Tony with wide, suddenly-focused eyes. "Hey, Pete. It's me. It's Tony."

Those eyes, so uncomfortably blank, shifted for just a second, and Peter's jaw clenched, his whole body rigid as he seemed to fight something.

"Hey…why don't you sit down, buddy, and I can…"

And then the kid was a blur of motion, tackling Tony to the ground and bringing back a fist. Whatever had been in his eyes was gone, and they were back to blank…back to unseeing and almost dead, but it was only Tony's metal arm shoving himself to the side that stopped the kid's fist from slamming into his face. Instead, it embedded itself into the floor, and Peter's eyes followed Tony like a cat's eyes would track a mouse.

"Peter! Pete! Stop!" Tony cried, trying to sit up, bringing his metal arm up to catch Peter's fist. "Kid, please…I know this isn't…" The fist yanked away and a grunt was forced from Tony's mouth when it hit him in the side of the head, making him see stars. Again, the boy punched him, that same blank look on his face, and Tony cried out when he felt his nose snap.

But he wasn't dead. Peter could have killed him. He knew that. Peter was strong enough to kill him with a single punch.

Peter was fighting whatever this was.

"I know this isn't't you. It's okay. It's okay, Pete. Just fight it. Please, buddy, please you have to…" Tony flinched when the fist came back, bloodying his cheek and splitting the skin open there. Tony tried to catch his hand again, managing to hold him off for a second…

And then the weight was gone, and Tony blinked a few times, looking up to find Peter over on his side, and a familiar shield flew past him in a blur of motion, coming to a stop in Sam's hand. "What the hell, man?" The man asked, looking between them, gripping the shield as he watched Peter put a hand to his head, slowly pushing himself upright. "Is that…"

Peter turned to stare at Sam, zeroing in as he stood.

"Tony? What's wrong with him?"

"Brainwashed? I don't know. He just showed up like this." Tony wanted to say more…to explain that Peter hadn't hurt Morgan and that he had been holding back his strength, but he didn't have time before Peter was racing for Sam who was dressed in sweats and a tank top, his only weapon the shield that he held up, ducking out of the way of Peter's fist and slamming the shield into Peter's side.

"Snap the fuck out of it, kid!" Sam ordered, moving a fraction of a second too slowly, then going flying when Peter landed a kick to his ribs.

"Peter!" Tony managed to get himself to his feet, getting the kid's attention for just long enough that Sam could pick himself up, limping a little and pressing a hand to his ribs. "I know you can hear me. You have to fight, buddy. Please. You have to…"

Without letting Tony finish, Peter spun on his heels and went after Sam once more, leaping onto the wall, then springing off only to be hit head on with the shield, the vibranium bouncing off his skull and throwing him back into the wall that crumbled behind him. The sight made Tony's stomach curdle, and he stumbled forward, fighting the concussion he knew that Peter had given him. "No….Sam, don't hurt him!"

"Don't think I've got a choice, Tony!"

"What the hell?" Bucky appeared in the kitchen then, and Tony had never been so grateful to have the Avengers close. He stared down at Peter whose nose was busted open, blood covering his face, and turned to stare incredulously at Sam. "Did you…"

"Kid's brainwashed. Trying to kill us."

"We need a sedative!" Tony cut in as Peter pulled himself to his feet, eyes locked on Bucky and Sam. "I'll call Helen…she has to have something that can knock him out." But he barely had time to pull out his cell phone, leaning against the wall to keep himself upright, when Peter sprung again. Bucky and Sam stood shoulder to shoulder, Sam with his shield out and Bucky with his hand in a fist, but even Tony could see that Peter was too fast. He fumbled with his phone, scrolling for Helen's number as Sam brought the shield up, missing as Peter landed a blow to Bucky's temple, catching the metal arm and twisting hard until the whole thing was yanked off at the shoulder, making Bucky scream and stagger backward until he hit the wall. Sam threw the shield again, but Peter spun, hand outstretched, and caught the huge metal disk in his hand, fingers curling around the edge before tossing it aside.

Tony's heart skipped a beat when he saw the tiny dents along the edge in the shape of his fingers. Sam took a step back, watching Peter warily as he approached. "Come on, kid," the man muttered as Tony held the phone to his ear.

"Helen? I need something strong enough to put Peter to sleep. Right now. He's brainwashed."

"Pete? Look, I know you don't want to do this," Sam spoke softly, hands up. "We know this isn't your fault. We know that. You just have to fight it, okay?"

"I don't…I don't have anything at the tower. I'd have to bring it from the Compound…" Helen stammered a little, and he could hear her footsteps on the other line. "Do you have anything strong enough to contain him?"

Tony watched as Bucky staggered back to his feet, his one hand in the air. "Peter! Hey…I know it's hard. I know it feels impossible. But you gotta stop, okay? Just…Peter!"

The boy sprung at Sam, knocking the man's head against the wall as they both went down. Sam blinked, flinching when Peter pulled back a fist and landed a blow to his temple, then another. Eyes shut, Sam went limp, but Peter pulled his arm back again. Fumbling in his belt, Bucky pulled out a pistol and aimed.

"Peter! Get off him!"

"Don't! Don't shoot him!" Tony begged, the phone clenched tight in his flesh and blood hand. He'd just gotten him back. That was his boy…that was his son and someone had hurt him! Someone was making him do this!

"He's going to kill Sam!"

Peter hit the man again, then froze, shoulders shaking, fist poised in the air.

"Peter?" The tiny voice made everyone freeze, and they all turned to find Morgan standing in the doorway, tears in her eyes. "Peter?"

"Tony? Tony, I'm sending them in a suit! Two minutes!" He could barely make out Helen's tinny voice over the phone as he watched Morgan step into the room.

"Morgan! Go back to the lab!" Tony ordered in a voice that shook so hard he wasn't sure she could even understand him. None of them were fast enough to stop Peter if he went for her. Taking a slow step toward his daughter, Tony held his hands up. But Peter was staring at Morgan…not like he'd stared at the other's though.

Peter had first met Morgan in Tony's hospital room. Tony had been holding the girl in his arms, apologizing for being asleep for so long and wiping away her tears when Peter had stepped into the room, face healed of all the little cuts and bruises he'd gotten from the battle, dressed now in a t-shirt with the periodic table on it and a pair of jeans, no sign of the suit. For a moment, Peter had hesitated, starting to leave as though Tony wouldn't want him there, but Tony had reached out his one arm.

"Peter."

That's all it had taken for the boy to break down, dropping his face, tears streaming down his cheeks as his shoulders had shaken.

"Oh, buddy…come here. There's plenty of room."

Obligingly, Morgan had scooted over a little to make room for the stranger who had thrown himself into her father's arms, sobbing into his shoulder. "Mr. Stark….i thought you…I thought…"

"I'm just fine, Pete. Don't worry about me. It's going to take more than a couple of glowing rocks to take me down." Peter had snorted, shaking his head and trying to wipe his eyes, but Tony had just held him for a long time, blown away by the miracle of it all. And then, after a long time of hugging and crying, he'd introduced Peter to Morgan. "Pete, this is my little girl. Morgan, this is…"

"Spider-Man!" She'd cried, pointing at Peter. "Are you Spider-Man?"

Peter had blinked a few times before nodding, giving a soft, shy smile. "Yeah. That's me. Hi, Morgan."

"Daddy told me bedtime stories about you! He said you stopped a bad man called the Vulture, but that's a silly name because Vultures are birds!"

Peter had laughed a little, nodding. "Yeah. It was a silly name."

"And he said that you helped Daddy fight the really big bad man, but the really big bad man made you go away."

Peter had cleared his throat, giving a shaky nod. "He did…yeah….but he's gone now."

"And Daddy told me that you were like his kid which means you're my big brother!"

The kid had gone a little pale at that, and Tony had almost apologized. Had almost tried to explain. But then Peter had flushed a little, lowering his eyes. "Um…I guess…yeah. I kind of was…so…" Before he'd been able to finish, Tony had pulled him close again, pressing his lips to Peter's temple before Morgan had crawled over him, wrapping her arms around Peter's waist.

"I'm glad Daddy brought you back. I always wanted to meet my big brother."

"I'm glad too," Peter had whispered back, sitting on the bed and pulling her into his arms like she belonged there…just like Tony had held her a million times.

Now he stared at her, his whole body shaking, and Tony realized that Peter's mouth was moving. He was whispering. "No. No, no no….no, no, no…" He moved forward, then back, feet planted firmly on the ground, hands in fists at his sides.

"Peter?" Morgan asked again, taking another step.

"Morgan! Peter is…he's sick, okay? I need you to go back downstairs," Tony ordered, trying to make his voice firm. But Peter was staring at her, shaking his head and whispering over and over.

"No, no, no…"

Sam was still on the floor and Tony was frozen halfway between his son and his daughter. Bucky held the gun steady, all eyes on Peter as he fought, eyes staring right at his sister who seemed, somehow, to understand. Who stood stock still, her eyes meeting her brother's, her arms wrapped around herself.

And then Peter turned. Tony didn't know if Barnes made a noise…or maybe Peter just couldn't fight it anymore. Maybe he was desperate to get himself away from his sister. Either way, he crouched, eyes locked on Bucky.

"Peter…" Bucky almost whispered, breaking the trance, and Tony moved at the same time as Peter, the kid whirling around to face the super soldier, lunging just as the gun went off and Morgan's scream filled the air.

"No!" Tony's cry was like the cry of an animal, drowning out Morgan's and Peter's both. Peter hit the ground hard, head bouncing on the hardwood, and Tony practically flew to the boy's side, yanking his shirt off and putting pressure on his chest where a red stain was spreading. "No…no, no….Peter!"

Hazy brown eyes fluttered open, meeting Tony's for the first time. Lips trembling, Peter took in a wavering breath and let out a sob. "Tony?"

"Yeah…I'm here. I'm right here, baby. It's okay…you're okay."

"I…it's still…" He gasped, closing his eyes and keeping his hands pressed to the floor as he gasped for air. "Still wants me…to…."

"Who, kid?" Bucky demanded, hurrying to join them, and in some part of his brain, Tony was aware that Morgan was crying and he heard footsteps probably belonging to Pepper but all he could think about was Peter…his boy was bleeding on the floor, tears running down his cheeks, knuckles split open and bleeding.

"They…Hydra they…they said…I…no…no, no, no!"

Tony swore, watching the kid's hands form fists, something clouding his eyes.

"I…I can't…"

Just then, there was a crash, and one of the Iron Legion burst into the room. Tony leapt up, grabbing at the syringe that the suit held out, then, without bothering to explain himself, plunged the needle into Peter's neck. Slowly, Peter's body relaxed, eyes going back to the familiar soft brown, then fluttering shut, hands going lax. "There you go," Tony whispered, letting Barnes take over holding pressure on Peter's chest, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek. "There you go, buddy. You rest. It's going to be okay. I've got you."

Pepper appeared then, and, seeing that Tony couldn't explain anything just yet, ushered Morgan off to bed. Tony pulled Peter into his arms, racing off to a car to get him to the Compound while Bucky saw to Sam. It was a tense thirty minute drive, with Tony sure that any moment Peter would wake up…would come back to his senses and attack, but Peter was still the whole time, never moving from his spot in the backseat, although the red stain on his chest grew by the minute despite the gauze taped over it. Bucky had missed everything vital, but Tony knew they had to get the bleeding under control.

In the end, Helen called Strange and Strange portaled Shuri in from Wakanda, but all Tony knew was that one moment he was placing Peter on a stretcher and watching him disappear through a set of double doors and twelve long, stressful hours later, he was being let back to Peter's side.

Peter was still under the blanket that was pulled up to his chest, a pulse monitor on one finger and a nasal cannula looped under his nose and over his ears. For a moment, Tony hesitated in the doorway, just watching him breathe. He'd gotten him back. Peter was alive and he was going to be okay. Taking a hesitant step into the room, he froze when Peter turned to look at him.

And then Peter was sobbing.

Tony barely noticed his feet moving. One moment, he was standing at the door. The next, his arms were wrapped carefully around his boy, a hand pressed to the back of his head, the other rubbing his back.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Tony. I tried…I tried to fight it! I tried…"

"I know. I know, baby. It's okay. I know that wasn't you."

"I hurt you!"

"Barely. I know you were holding back." In fact, Tony had needed three stitches and Helen had reset his nose, but that was neither here nor there. "I know you didn't mean to. You were fighting it. We could all see that."

"I wasn't strong enough…"

"You were. Pete…you didn't hurt Morgan."

Peter clutched the back of Tony's shirt, hiding his face in his shoulder. "I saw her….they wanted me to hurt her but..I couldn't! I couldn't hurt her! I yelled at her….she was scared!"

"I know. You did so good, Pete."

"I almost hurt her!" Peter cried, pulling away just enough to meet Tony's eyes, his own anguished and red-rimmed. Bloodshot. "I could have hurt her!"

"No you couldn't have. You would never hurt her, Peter. Just like you'd never hurt me or Bucky or Sam. That wasn't you, buddy. None of this was your fault."

Peter dropped his head against Tony's shoulder once more, and Tony knew that there was no way he was getting through to the kid, not yet, he sat down on the bed, then lay back against the pillows. He had Peter back. He had his son back. The rest would have to wait.


	16. I Know You (I Swear I Do)

**Prompt 2: Peter and Tony have amnesia **

The man blinked at the ceiling, his head aching as he watched the dome above his head spin. He felt like he'd been hit by a truck, although he had no idea why he would have been in a situation that would have made that a possibility. Groaning, he put a hand to his forehead, and to his confused surprise, it came away clean. He touched his head again, expecting to find blood any moment, but his skin was unbroken. Pushing his hair back, he braced his hands against the floor and tried to push himself upright, groaning again when the mission was a resounding failure, his body dropping back against the floor. Sighing, he blinked a few times, ignoring the way his stomach clenched uncomfortably, then tried again, managing this time to sit upright.

The room was large and seemingly empty except for what looked to be a pile of clothes in the corner. There were no windows, and the only light came from a handful of sconces on the walls, giving off dull, yellow light that cast long shadows. He rubbed a hand over his face, turning over and getting onto his knees, back giving a twinge of pain at the movement. Casting his mind back, the man tried to remember why he was here...why he'd woken up on the wooden floor with a killer headache.

And then he tried to remember his own name. Where he was from. How old he was or what he did for a living. He knew that all of these questions had to have answers, but for the life of him, he couldn't come up with any. No matter how hard he thought, no matter how he searched his mind he couldn't remember anything. Nothing from childhood. Nothing about his family...or anything. For a moment, that made his chest hurt, and there was a strange feeling in his chest, fluttery and painful.

And then the clothes moved.

The man's head jerked upright, and he made himself perfectly still, watching the bundle of clothes in the corner move, legs emerging, then arms, and then he realized it wasn't a pile of clothes at all. It was a boy. A long-limbed boy with short, curly brown hair that flopped in his face when he, just like the man, started to sit up, then fell back, a whimper escaping that made the man's chest hurt even worse.

Taking a steadying breath, the man got one foot, then another under him, pushing upright with one burst of effort then taking another breath as the world swayed. The boy on the floor panted, lying on his back as he gasped for air, pressing his hand to his chest. The kid's face was bloody, nose obviously broken, and as the man approached, he realized that the kid's eye was swollen almost shut. His mouth was open as he gasped for air, and when the man finally reached his side, his eyes flashed over to him, his whole body going still.

"Hey…you okay?" the man asked, lowering himself carefully to his knees once more. The boy took a stuttering breath, watching the hand that slowly came toward his head with wide, frightened eyes. But the man just rested it on the boy's hair. "It's okay...hey...I'm not going to hurt you." There was something about this boy...he had no more memory of this child than he had of himself, but he knew that something about him was important.

"My head...hurts…" the boy choked out, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as a tear ran down his face. The man wiped it away, putting a firm hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Yeah...mine too, kiddo. Think we got whammied."

The boy blinked at him, then nodded as if in agreement.

"Do you know how you got here?" The man watched as the boy went through all the stages he himself had gone through….the searching. The realization. The fear. His eyes flashed up to the man's, eyes wide and afraid.

"I...no...no, I don't...how did I get here? Who...who are you? Why can't I remember anything?"

The man squeezed his shoulder and shook his head. "I don't know. I just woke up a few minutes ago."

"I don't know who I am," the boy whispered, lips trembling.

"Neither do I, bud. But it's okay. We're going to be okay. We'll get out of here and…" He shook his head, not sure where they'd go from there. The boy was hurt, and he had no idea who he was, or who the boy was, or how they were related. Was this...the thought hit the man so hard he almost had to sit down. Was this his son?

The boy looked familiar, and since the man couldn't even remember his own name, that seemed significant. So...so this boy...was this boy his? Something about that thought felt right, more right than any other thought had since he'd woken up. This boy was his. His boy. His son. The more he thought it, the more right it felt. The kid was staring at him, and the man gave a tenuous smile, patting him on the arm. "Alright, kiddo. How about we try standing up, huh?"

The boy nodded, not looking too sure of himself, but still, when the man stood, the boy took his hand and let the man pull him upright, standing with the typical ease of youth...but then the man stared down at their linked hands. The boy wasn't letting go. And this didn't bother the man, exactly, but one look at the kid's face and he knew that he wasn't doing it on purpose.

"I...I'm sorry...I can't...I can't let go," the boy whispered, staring up at the man with one wide eye, the other swollen shut. The sight made the man wince, his free hand reaching out as if of its own accord, this thumb brushing the boy's eye.

"Geez, kiddo...someone took a shot at you, huh?"

"I don't know why I can't let go."

Something made the man calm...something made him realize that there had to be a reason his son couldn't let go. Something made him know, deep down, that things would be okay because he and his son were together and they could get out of this. "It's okay. Just calm down, buddy. It's going to be okay." He lowered his hand to their joined ones, patting the boy's hand. "Take a deep breath."

"How do you know…"

"It's going to be okay."

"But we...we have to get out of here and I can't…"

"Hey," the man leaned in, meeting the boy's one good eye. "It's okay. We're going to be okay. Take some deep breaths. In and out...there you go."

The kid, who had started to hyperventilate, nodded, closing his eyes then taking a deep breath.

"There you go. Keep breathing." The man wasn't just speaking to him. He had to take steady, deep breaths as well to keep himself calm. This was weird...a terrible, weird thing that was happening. But they were going to be okay. Something told him that they were going to be okay. That they were going to get home and get their memories back and everything was going to be fine. It had to be. He was going to get his kid home.

Slowly, the boy managed to unstick his hand, pulling gently away and staring down at his palm. "I was stuck to you."

"Yeah…"

"That's...that's weird, right?"

"It's...it's not normal," the man allowed, then gave the best smile he could. "But listen, we're going to find a way out of here. Come on...let's, uh...let's find a door or something, huh?"

There was a door, right between two sconces, so the two walked over, the man trying the doorknob and pulling to no avail. The boy watched, then narrowed his eyes, placing his own hand on the doorknob. "I think I can…" The boy glanced at him, then pulled.

The doorjamb splintered, the wood breaking apart, and the door swung open, leaving the two staring in slack-jawed surprise. "The hell…" the man whispered.

"I think...I think I'm really strong," the boy answered a question the man hadn't asked. "And...and I can stick to things?"

"Yeah, we'll figure out what that means later, huh? Let's, uh...let's get out of here first." The man went first, stepping onto the first step, and the boy followed closely enough that the man could feel his body beat...could feel the boy that he knew had to be his behind his back. Every few steps, he reached back, placing a hand on the boy's arm, just to make sure he was there. That he was close and he was safe. The boy had to be safe. It was his number one priority.

When they reached the landing, they stood, silent, waiting. The boy inched forward, slipping past the man, looking around the room they found themselves in, then looked back at the man. "I don't hear anything," he whispered with a shrug. The man nodded, fighting the urge to touch his face...to run his finger over the bruising around his eye that seemed, somehow to be getting darker by the moment.

"Alright. We're looking for a door...or a window," the man murmured, making sure to keep his voice down. Either would do. They'd climb out a window if they had to and...wander around New York?

The man jerked his head up, turning to look at the boy who stared at him, just as startled. "New York?" they hissed together, faces so close they nearly touched. "Are we...do we live in New York?" the boy asked, and the man shrugged.

"I...maybe? Or maybe we were in New York?"

Why didn't they have any memories? Why had they regained that piece of information seemingly at the same time?

The man could feel the boy's eyes on him, and so he tried to stay composed. Calm. Like this was an everyday occurance. Like they did stuff like this all the time. Hey, maybe they did! Maybe this was normal. But even as they moved from room to room, searching this maze of a place for a window or a door to the outside, he thought he could feel other eyes on him. Were they being watched?

"This doesn't make any sense," the man finally hissed, resisting the urge to slam his hands into the wall. They'd passed what felt like twenty doors, all leading to other rooms which led to other rooms which led to even more rooms, all bare except for the occasional bed or table. There was no food. No way out. No bathrooms. Where the hell were they?

He turned to the boy, about to see how he was holding up, but found the spot beside him empty. Stomach clenching, he turned in circles, eyes wandering the room as he searched for the boy. "Kid?" he hissed, taking a stumbling step forward. "Kid? Where'd you go?"

"Look!" The word, called out in a whisper, had him spinning in place to find the boy, head popping out of a wall, eyes wide. "I found a secret door."

"Gave me a heart attack is what you did," the man grumbled a little, but he couldn't help the smile at the boy's excitement, reaching out and ruffling his hair. "Good job, kid."

This time, the boy led the way, the two of them hurrying down stairs that creaked with every step, but, the man thought, it wasn't like they were swimming in options. At the bottom of the staircase was another door, and the boy placed his hand on the knob, closing his eyes and pressing his ear to it. The man bit down on his lip, waiting. All he could hear was his own breathing, and the breathing of the boy beside him. His heartbeat. The settling of an old house. But then the boy turned the knob, pushing slowly. This door wasn't locked, at least, and together, they stepped onto a polished wood floor.

And there, on the far side of the room, was a window.

They spotted it at the same time, and the man had only taken two steps, an arm reaching out to the boy, when the boy went still, a hand gripping the man's wrist right before he sprung forward, tackling him hard and throwing the both of them to the floor. The man groaned when his head hit the floor, but then a burst of light filled his vision, hitting the boy who had been laying on top of him and throwing him into the wall. The kid blinked a few times, staring at him with one wide, frightened brown eye while the other remained as it was, swollen most of the way shut. "Kid!" He shouted, starting to push himself to his feet, when a heavy boot landed on his chest, slamming him back down.

"I thought you said this spell would last for days!"

"It does!" The second voice was a woman's, and the man finally got a good look at the people who must have been their captors. The woman had blonde hair and icy blue eyes that looked at the man as though he were a bug pinned to a piece of cardstock, calculating and curious, but not particularly interested. The man, with dark hair and dark skin and a black cape wrapped around his shoulders, glared at him, heavy boot still pinning him in place.

"Then why do they keep trying to escape?"

"I can wipe their memories. I can't make them content with laying on the floor in a strange place. Anyone would try to escape." the woman reasoned, wandering over to the boy who was struggling to pick himself up off the floor. "This one apparently doesn't know when to stay down." Bringing back a food, she slammed it into his ribs and the boy gasped, falling back to the floor, hands flying to protect his side. "Four times we've been through this." she pulled a foot back and kicked again. "Four times, I've had to deal with you."

"Hey! Leave him alone!" the man shouted, trying to shove the boot off his chest, and that's when the boy's head turned toward him, eyes following the boot to the leg to the man that held him down, and the boy's one good eye narrowed. The next time her foot came back, he grabbed it, pulling hard and sending her crashing to her knees. And then the kid was on his feet, his movements a blur as he hit her in the temple hard enough to send her crashing to the floor. The man with the boots removed his foot and made a gesture, hands moving in complicated patterns until a glowing yellow blade appeared in his hands.

He reared back and threw it at the boy who moved from wall to wall, jumping easily out of the way. The man struggled to stand, desperate to help and not knowing how as another blade appeared, then another as their captor stalked forward, throwing blade after blade at the boy. "You ridiculous insect," their captor growled under his breath as the man forced himself to his knees, then his feet, eyes searching the room for something...anything to use against him!

The boy was fast. He could apparently sense when those blades were coming for him. But he couldn't hold out forever. He jumped just as the man conjured a larger blade...one long enough to be considered a spear, getting just close enough to try and land a blow, then the room was filled with a blood-curdling scream as the spear plunged through the meat of his side, coming out of his back like a shish kabob.

The man froze, all other thoughts aborted as he watched the boy scream, hands coming down uselessly to hover over the spear running him through. "No," the man whispered, shaking his head and stumbling forward. Not his kid...not his boy. No...not when he couldn't even remember his fucking name!

The crash startled them all, and before the man could even make sense of it, something red was wrapped around their captor's head, yanking him to the floor and slamming his head into the wood. Stunned, but not too stunned to move, the man raced past them to the boy's side, dropping to his knees just as the boy did. "Hey...hey, you're okay," he whispered, cupping his boy's face with one hand and steadying him with the other. "You're okay. We're going to get out of here. It's okay. Look at me, buddy. You're okay. You're fine."

The boy's lip quivered, tear tracks running through the bruises on his face, and the man felt a tug of memory...their captor's fist slamming into the boy's face and sending him crashing to the ground. His own voice screaming for the man to stop. But he blinked and it was gone, leaving him with just the boy. Just the boy who had to be his. Who he could never love this much if he wasn't his, surely. If it was just some strange kid.

The glowing circle appeared behind the man, and he only got a glimpse of it in the boy's wide eye before turning to find a man stepping through it, the circle fizzling out behind him. This man was tall, with dark hair that had a streak in it, and a goatee to match. Striding toward the man still being smothered by a piece of apparently sentient red fabric, he pulled something that looked like glowing handcuffs out of his pocket and snapped them over the man's wrists. As soon he did, the glowing spear fizzed away, just like the glowing circle had, and the boy made a noise under his breath before slumping forward, a growing red stair coloring the front of his t-shirt.

"No...no! Kid! Hey!" The man eased him down to the ground, laying him on his back and yanking off his own shirt, pressing the ball of fabric to the boy's front and catching a glimpse of a scar on his own chest that he ignored.

"Tony? Are you alright?" The man with the handcuffs asked as the piece of red fabric flew through the air and eased itself around the boy's prone form, curling up around his head like a cat. "Tony?" The man asked again, leaving their unconscious captor on the floor and hurrying to kneel beside the boy.

"The kid...my kid…"

"We're going to get him back to the medbay. He'll be okay." Even as the other man spoke, he didn't sound too sure, his own hands moving to the boy's throat and pressing gently there. After a moment, he shook his head, then lifted one of the boy's eyelids, showing only the white of his eye. "Okay...let's get him back to the tower."

Not sure if he could actually trust this man and not caring either way, as long as he helped his boy, the man nodded, pushing himself upright and watching as the other man moved his hands, somehow making the boy float in midair. Another glowing circle appeared, and with a deft flick of his hands, the boy was floating through it.

The piece of red fabric moved from where it had been resting on the floor to settle on the man with the handcuff's shoulders, going limp like any other cloak. "Let's get you back to the tower. Are you hurt?"

The man shook his head. "The kid...the boy…"

"He'll be fine, Tony. You need to come with me. Your doctor is taking care of him."

"My doctor?"

The man with the cloak narrowed his eyes. "Dr. Cho. I'll assist as well…"

"They did something to us," the man blurted. "I can't remember...he's my son and I can't even remember…"

For a moment, the other man was silent. Then he reached out a hand. "Your name is Tony Stark. The boy's name is Peter. You were abducted by a sorcerer that we have been trying to capture for months now. They must have used the…" He trailed off, getting a closer look at the man who realized his name was Tony. Just like the sudden memory of his location, that knowledge clicked into his brain, just like his boy's name. Peter. He was Tony and that was Peter. He loved Peter. Peter was his in some way. "Okay. I think I can reverse it...or it should wear off. Either way, we need to get you out of here."

Tony had only just gotten his body through the portal when a woman threw herself into his arms, pressing her head to his shoulder and taking a long, shuddering breath. "Oh god, Tony! I thought…" She trailed off, pulling away, and he felt his heart swell with love, just like it had when he'd first seen the boy. Peter. Swallowing hard, he tried for a smile as he faced the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life.

"Hi."

She gave an incredulous shake of the head and then pulled him close again. "Hi."

"Their memories were wiped. It's a fairly simple spell. I can reverse it." The man who had yet to introduce himself called out as he made a gesture and the portal collapsed. "Tony? Come and take a seat and I can.."

"No...Peter! You have to check on…"

"Doctor Cho is with him," the man assured him. "He's going to be fine." The man seemed so sure, and the woman put a hand on his shoulder, leading him to the sofa in the corner. They were in what looked to be a medical waiting room, and Tony tried to remember it...tried to think of why they would be in their own private waiting room. Was it a hospital? His hospital?

The man wearing the cloak stared at Tony, and he found himself almost dozing off, staring at the man who moved his hands, muttering something Tony couldn't quite understand.

And then he knew.

The knowledge, the sum of his life, hit him so hard that, had he been standing, he was sure his knees would have buckled. As it was, his legs lost all sensation and his breath was caught in his throat, Pepper's hand on his shoulder the only thing holding him up.

"Tony? Tony, can you hear me?" Stephen Strange demanded, sounded worried, as though he might have accidentally killed him.

Tony nodded, pressing a hand to his chest and feeling it all hit him. They'd been chasing that wizard, searching the city for the man who had been abducting people...bodies had been found by the river. Stephen had told them that they were the bodies of other wizards. So Tony had joined Peter on his patrols, the two of them keeping an eye out...and then there had been a battle. A flash of light.

And then that attic.

Four times. Four times, Tony had woken and found Peter in the corner, curled in a ball where he'd been thrown haphazardly. Four times he had realized that this was his boy, his child, and that he had to protect him, even if he didn't remember his own name. Four times Peter had found the secret door and four times they had lost the battle and Peter had been hurt worse and worse...

Until Stephen had come along.

"Peter." He whispered the boy's name. It didn't matter that Stephen had already told him the boy's name. Now he knew. Peter. Peter who he'd met in the boy's apartment and who had come with him to Germany to try and apprehend Steve. Peter, who, in the two years since, had become less of a mentee and more of a son.

His instincts had been right each of those four times. Peter was his kid.

After being ushered by Pepper back into their apartment to take the fastest shower of his life and change clothes, he hurried back down to the medbay where he found Stephen still waiting. It wasn't long before Helen came out of the medbay with a tired smile and a white coat speckled with blood. "Tony...it's good to see you," she murmured, eyes full of genuine relief. "He's okay. He lost a lot of blood, but we had enough on hand. He's resting."

"Can you undo the spell? Make him remember again?" He asked Stephen, turning with his arms crossed tightly across his chest. He needed Peter to remember. Needed him to know who he was and who Tony was.

"Of course." Both men turned to Helen who gave a sharp nod.

"He should be awake soon."

Tony found himself at Peter's side less than ten minutes later, along with Stephen and the cloak that, true to form, left Stephen's shoulders and draped itself over Peter's shoulders. The collar rubbed gently against Peter's face, like a dog licking his cheek. Tony remembered the first time they'd met the cloak had met him...he remembered the thing wrapping itself around Peter and snuggling up with him like an overexcited puppy. Strange had seemed resigned but less irritated than amused...and ever since, that cloak had loved Peter. And Peter had loved the cloak.

Peter was only asleep for about an hour before he started to stir, and Tony remembered what it had felt like to watch the boy wake those four times...how he hadn't recognized him. Hadn't remembered anything about him. But he'd known, the moment he'd laid eyes on him, every single time, that he was important. The boy looked up at him, eyes fluttering like they had every time, that same lack of recognition and fear as before, but this time, it went away after a moment.

"What...what happened?" Peter asked, looking from Tony to the other people in the room...the ones who, to him, were strangers.

"You're okay. How do you feel, kiddo?"

"Um...I'm okay. Did we...did we get out?" He asked, his voice a whisper as he glanced at Stephen once more.

"Yeah, bud. We got out. This is Stephen. He's going to help you remember, okay?"

"Okay...um…" Peter nodded, eyes darting over to Stephen once more. Sensing that the boy wanted to ask something, Tony leaned in as Stephen excused himself to get something from the other room. Tony was sure the man didn't need anything, but Stephen had had a soft spot for Peter from the beginning, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

"What's up? Do you need something?" Tony asked, leaning in.

"I just...do you...do you know? Who you...who you are and who I…"

"Yeah, buddy. I do."

Peter swallowed hard, glancing down at his lap, then back at Tony. "Are you...are you my…" He flushed, crossing his arms over his chest, and Tony reached out, putting a hand on his hair, ruffling it gently.

"You're my kid, you know that right?"

"I...I kind of...I hoped but…"

Tony smiled, moving the hand to the boy's cheek. "You're my kid. Now why don't you let Stephen do his weird wizard thing and we'll all have our memories again. Okay?"

"Okay." The smile on Peter's face was heartbreakingly relieved, and Tony leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to the side of his hair before stepping away to make room for Stephen, who had taken his time reentering the room. When he did, he took a seat beside Peter, urging the boy to relax, and Tony watched. He watched Peter as the wizard moved his hands and murmured the magic words, whatever those were, and he watched the knowledge return to Peter's eyes.

Tony was the first one Peter looked for as he slumped back against the pillow, the energy seeming to drain from him. As if sensing Tony's movements, Stephen stood, moving easily out of the way as he sat down hard in the chair at Peter's side, reaching out to grab the boy's hand. "Hey, you're okay. It's okay. I know...it hits you hard at first."

"Oh...oh god, Mr. Stark…"

"It's fine. Buddy, it's okay. We're fine."

"I kept...I thought you were my...I'm so sorry…"

"Hey," Tony murmured, moving from the chair to the side of Peter's bed. "Look at me."

Peter did, sniffing a little and running a hand through his hair. Already, the bruises on his face looked better. His eye, too, was healing.

"You are. I am. Not by blood, but still. I...I love you, kid. Even when I didn't know my own name, I knew that. So it must be true, huh?"

Slowly, that same hopeful smile grew on Peter's face, and he gave a quick nod. "Yeah?"

"Definitely." Tony leaned in, wrapping his arm around the boy.

"Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"I love you too."

**Thank you for reading! **


	17. I Can't Imagine This World Without You

**Prompt: I can't imagine this world without you**

Peter sat in the corner of what had been Mr. Stark's workshop, the fingers of his right hand drumming nervously on his knee. He'd found the device in the man's desk and even though he knew he probably shouldn't have taken it…but his name had been on it! Written in Mr. Stark's familiar handwriting in black sharpie, right along the side, had been his name, and how could he ignore that? How could he have just left it there? Why would Mr. Stark have saved a flash drive with his name on it for five years?

Five long years. Five years during which the man had gotten married and had a little girl. Peter was still struggling to get all of it straight in his mind…to fully take it in. The battle on titan. Then…the feeling of his body falling apart. His hands gripping the back of Mr. Stark's shirt, and then his hands turning to dust. Terror and pain mingling in his stomach. Mr. Stark's face as he'd tried to lower him to the ground and his body slamming into the rocks of Titan…and then…apologizing. Looking at Mr. Stark's face, he had known how afraid he was….just as afraid as Peter had been.

And then, the next minute, he'd been laying on the ground, staring up at Doctor Strange who had been leaning over him, holding out a hand and explaining that Mr. Stark needed his help. Then the battle…the aliens and Thanos and the gauntlet and…and Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark throwing his arms around him right in the middle of his explanation and holding him so tightly…

Mr. Stark had missed him. He'd kissed the side of his head and held him for so long but the battle had been raging around them. The battle and Thanos…

And the gauntlet.

Peter sighed rubbing his face and then leaning forward, fingers hovering over the flash drive. All he had to do was plug it in. It was no surprise that Mr. Stark had not only invented time travel but also perfected hologram technology. Reaching out, he took a deep breath, then placed his hand back on his leg, shifting a little on the stool to keep his balance. Everything still ached from the battle, and he wanted to lay down on the old sofa still in the corner…the one he'd napped on a thousand times before. The one that smelled like motor oil from DumE's smoothies and Mr. Stark's cologne and just…the lab. The lab had its own smell, and as soon as Peter had stepped into the room, he'd been hit by a wave of it so strong that for a moment, he'd leaned against the wall, eyes closed, just taking it in. It had only been a few weeks for him, but still…just knowing that it had actually been five years had made it hit him harder, somehow.

He'd been gone for five years! And somehow, Mr. Stark has brought him back. He'd cared enough to invent time travel for him! Well, Peter reminded himself, not just for him. For everyone. Half of the Avengers…hell, half the universe. It was a little narcissistic to think it had all been about him. But then he'd remember the way Mr. Stark had looked at him on that battlefield. Almost like…like he loved him.

The thought brought it all back…the battlefield and the way Mr. Stark had looked at the gauntlet and the fear…the full-on terror. Knowing that he was going to die. Knowing what he was going to lose. Knowing that he'd never get the chance to talk to Mr. Stark again. Sniffing, Peter ran a hand over his face, trying not to cry. Not again. He'd already cried so much.

Peter shifted on the stool, flinching at the full-body soreness he still felt, then finally clicked the button. He had to know. Even if he wasn't supposed to. Even if it would only make it hurt more.

Immediately, the hologram of Mr. Stark appeared, full-sized and smiling at him. Smiling in a way Peter had never really seen him smile before. Smiling like he loved him so much, like he was so happy to see him, even if Peter knew that the man wasn't there.

"Hey, Pete." The smile practically split the man's face in two, and Peter felt himself mirroring it, eyes still hot. "I…". The man held up his hands in a shrug. "I don't really know what to say. That's a first, huh? I just…I miss you so much, Pete. More than I ever thought possible. You… you were like…" He scoffed, shaking his head a little. "You were so important to me, and one of my greatest regrets is not getting to tell you that. But I'm going to try something…something to bring you back. I've tried before…I gave up, Pete. I hope you can forgive me for that. I hope that you know, it wasn't until I found out that Pepper was pregnant…up until then, you were all I could think about. Losing you like that…I still have nightmares. But when Morgan came along…I hope you get to meet her, buddy. I hope…I hope I get to see it when you do."

The hologram of Mr. Stark cleared his throat and Peter rubbed a hand over his eyes once more, trying to stop his tears to no avail.

"Anyway, the reason I'm making this is, uh, what we're doing, kid, it's dangerous. And if I have to make the last play…if I can save the world one more time…". He trailed off, looking so sad as he stared into space right beside Peter's head. "What I'm trying to say is, if I don't make it and you somehow end up watching this, I want you to know….I want you to know that it's okay. I had a good run, kiddo. A great run. But when it comes down to it, I can't imagine this world without you, and for the last five years, I've had to live it. If there's any chance…any chance in the universe that I can bring you back, I'm taking it. You…you and Morgan, you're the greatest things in my life."

Tony leaned in then, smiling so softly, so full of love, that the rest of the tears finally spilled over, and he dropped his head, a sob breaking through. "I love you, Pete. So much. You're going to be the best of all of us."

Dropping his face into his hand, Peter heard the program close as his chest gave a fierce, aching stab of pain. It had been for him. All of it…Mr.. Stark had put everything on the line for him and it wasn't fair! None of it was fair!

"Peter?" The voice surprised him enough that his head jerked up, and he forgot to wipe his eyes, not that it would have made a difference. The man in the doorway stared at him for a moment before rushing over, putting his hands on Peter's shoulders. "Hey…what are you doing down here?"

Sheepishly, Peter pointed at the flash drive, and Mr. Stark turned, eyebrows furrowing when he caught sight of it. "Buddy…"

"You thought you were going to die," Peter choked out, and Mr. Stark sighed and wrapped his arms around him, careful of his left side.

"I wanted to leave you a message. Just in case."

"You were ready to die!"

"Not ready, Pete. Just willing." Peter sobbed again, shoulders shaking as he hid his face in Mr. Stark's should we. The radiation from the gauntlet had nearly killed him. He'd lost his left arm, and his whole left side was covered in scars…but he'd survived. He knew that Mr. Stark wouldn't have.

"I'm not. I'm not willing to let you die!"

"Yeah, I know bud. You kind of proved that when you took the gauntlet away from me in the last quarter."

It had been a snap decision. One second, Mr. Stark had been about to put his hand in the gauntlet. The next, Peter had shot a web, yanking the gaudy, golden glove back to himself before shoving his hand inside.

When it had all been over and he'd been left flat on his back, blood bubbling in his mouth and spilling over onto his chin, Mr. Stark had been right there. He'd waited for a lecture. For a scolding. Instead, the man had cupped his right cheek and had given him a reset smile. "Hey…hey Pete. It's me. It's Tony. Mr. Stark. You did it, honey. You won. We won."

Unable to respond, Peter had opened his mouth then closed it, choking on the blood and struggling to keep his eyes open as Tony had gripped his shoulder and sobbed, dropping his chin to his chest. "No….no, buddy, you… you've gotta stay with me. Okay? I waited five years to see you again. Five years! I have a daughter now, and a lake house. And I got married…and I wanted you there for all of it! Please…please don't go. Please…I just got you back! Please!"

Doctor Strange had been there then, and the next thing Peter had known was waking in the medbay, his left side feeling oddly numb.

Now he cried into Mr. Stark's shoulder as the man ran his hand through his hair in the room that had once been his personal lab and was now mostly a glorified storage closet. As soon as he'd woken up, Mr. Stark has been there, promising that it would all be okay. That he'd build him a kick-ass prosthetic and that he'd never even miss his arm. Then he'd quickly backtracked, assuring Peter that anything he felt was normal and that he should feel free to express his emotions, and then Peter had reached out, grabbing his shirt with his good hand, making Mr. Stark shut his mouth with an audible click.

"Did it work?"

The man had softened. "Yeah, buddy. It worked. You did it."

"Was it really five years?"

Mr. Stark has nodded again, sitting on the bed and wrapping his arm around Peter's shoulders. They'd stayed there for a long time.

Now Mr. Stark pulled at a little, ruffling his hair. "Now that you're done snooping in my stuff…"

"It has my name on it!"

"How about we head back upstairs. Best I remember, you're supposed to be on bed rest."

"Bed rest is boring, Mr. Stark."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." He wrapped an arm around Peter to steady him as they headed back toward the elevator. Peter had only been awake for a few days and everyone was paranoid about him being out of bed for more than a few minutes at a time, and that included the Avengers (plus Loki and Captain Marvel and May) who he'd been forced to evade to get down to the lab. "Here's the deal, you lay down and rest, and I'll order food. Then we can get started on building the spider a new limb. What do you say?"

Peter had to smile, nodding and thanking god and the universe once more that he'd managed to get the gauntlet…that he hadn't lost this. "Okay. But only if you get Hawaiian pizza."

"Fine, you heathen."


	18. The Bad Days

**Prompt: Peter having a bad mental health day**

The bad days had started when he was around twelve. Heavy days, days where nothing seemed fun anymore, even the things he loved, and where colors seemed to be muted. Days where even May and Ben's arms wrapped around him didn't fix anything. Didn't make it all better like they had when he'd been little. Days where homework felt impossible and the world seemed cruel and indifferent and he wondered if this was how it would be forever. If this was his life now.

They always passed, the bad days. Always. He always got through it, and like a light switch being flipped, the world would go back to the place it had been before. Not all good. But not all bad either. May and Ben would feel like home once more, and their hugs would make his heart swell, his body relax, even if he was too big to seek out comfort like that.

With the help of a therapist that May and Ben had hired, and the medicine he took every day, the bad days were better. Not nearly as frequent, or as strong. But they still happened sometimes.

As soon as Peter opened his eyes on a Saturday morning, watching the sunlight steam in through his window, he knew it was going to be a bad day. And since he was at the tower for the weekend, it wasn't like he could just sleep through it like normal. But he could try. "Friday? What time is it?"

"It is nearly eleven pm. Boss has asked me to inform you that breakfast is waiting for you in the kitchen when you're ready to get up. He has meetings until three pm, after which he suggested you could work in the lab together."

Any other day, that would sound fantastic. Any other day, he'd be thrilled about working in the lab with Mr. Stark. Today, on the other hand, all he wanted to do was pull the covers over his head and pretend to be sick. But if Mr. Stark thought he was sick, he might come back to the tower and take him to the medbay, or, if he found out that he was having a bad day, there would be questions to answer, and the thought of getting through that just sounded utterly exhausting. So he decided to do none of it. Instead, he let his head drop back onto his pillow as he stared at the wall.

The knock on his door surprised him in a vague way. Things happened on bad days. He rarely felt things about them. "Friday? Is he still asleep?"

Wondering what Clint Barton, who he'd known for all of a month and who he'd never really spoken to, wanted, Peter closed his eyes, hoping Friday wouldn't rat him out. Unfortunately, Friday rarely sided with him. Especially when he hadn't actually given a verbal request. "Peter is currently in bed, but he is not asleep."

The door opened, and Clint poked his head in. "Uh…hey, kid. You alright?" He asked, lifting an eyebrow. Clint was a father, Peter remembered as he stared at the mind, trying to gather the strength to respond. Maybe that's why he was fine with coming into Peter's room.

"Yeah, fine," Peter told him, his voice a tired sigh. The Avenger continued to stare at him, stepping fully into Peter's bedroom at the tower, the walls decorated with posters of things that, at the moment, held absolutely no interest. Not even the Star Wars poster with Mark Hamill's signature that had been so cool only the day before. He wanted Clint to go away. He wanted to close his eyes and slip into sleep so that this feeling that had settled over him like a suffocating blanket would finally disappear.

And then the man came closer, pressing the back of his hand to Peter's forehead. "Are you sick?"

Peter shrugged. He wasn't, but maybe if Clint thought he was, he'd leave him alone.

"You need me to get Tony?"

Peter should his head.

For a moment, the man was silent. And then he patted Peter's shoulder. "Come on, kid. Let's get some breakfast."

Peter didn't point out the fact that it was nearly noon. Arguing seemed like too much trouble, so with a sigh, he threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood, following him dumbly into the empty kitchen. Opening the microwave, Clint pulled out a plate full of waffles with a side of bacon that Peter just stared at for a moment before sitting at the table and mumbling out a 'thank you.' Every bite tasted like cardboard, but he ate anyway, knowing that if he didn't, Clint was going to be worried. And he had no idea what Clint would do if he got worried.

Once he'd eaten the food and drank the chocolate milk that the man had given him, staying mostly silent even if he did feel like a kid after being handed a glass of chocolate milk, Clint put his plate in the sink. "Aright, what do you say you get dressed and we head down to the training room. I've been dying to see what you can do."

Not seeing any grounds upon which to argue, Peter went back to his room and got dressed, feeling just a little better to be wearing real clothes. Still, his bed was tempting, with blankets that promised to be warm and soft…but he didn't give in. Clint was waiting. An Avenger was waiting. So he headed down to the training room, pleading with his brain to snap out of it. Begging his body to come to life, to shake off the heaviness that was tethering him to the ground, making his steps too heavy and his shoulders slump.

Peter hadn't been in the training room much since he'd started coming to the tower regularly, even though Mr. Stark had suggested coming over to train with the Avengers sometime. And he wanted to, which was why any other time, he would have been so excited to be going to the training room with Clint, even though Clint wasn't someone he knew all that well. Or…at all. Still. Clint was an Avenger and he'd been invited to join him in the training room. So he was something. Not quite excited. But something.

Clint wasn't the only one waiting for him down in the training room. In fact, when he stepped off the elevator, he heard several voices, and when he stepped into the room, he saw Clint talking to Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, both of whom glanced up at him with friendly smiles.

"Hey there, son. We were about to do some training. What do you say to joining us?"

Peter didn't know how he could say no.

The training started with sparring. First with Clint. Then with Sam. Then with Steve. With Steve, he felt his body start to finally relax, just a little. His breath came in hard pants, finally facing a challenge as he punched and dodged and kicked and felt sweat run down his back. It felt good. Felt good to finally work with his full strength. And when he felt like his body had been exhausted, they all headed for the showers, then the kitchen, and just for a little while, Peter forgot about the heaviness. He ate the food that Steve made, almost tasting it.

And then they were all in the living room and Peter found himself sitting on the sofa, shoulder to shoulder with Clint while Steve and Sam bickered over which movie to watch. Clint patted him on the arm and asked him about school. Asked him about his internship with Mr. Stark. And he tried to answer them, but all he wanted was to sleep. To go back to his room and curl up under a blanket. Still, he couldn't just leave the Avengers on the sofa. That would be rude. So he sat, letting his shoulder rest against Clint's as Steve finally chose an action movie about robots…or cars…either way, Peter felt his attention drifting within minutes. But, he realized, it was nice. It was nice to be in a room with other people who were talking and laughing and occasionally asking him questions even though it was a struggle to answer them.

Clint got up almost an hour into the movie, and Peter heard him talking to someone, but his eyes were heavy and then Mr. Stark had replaced Clint beside him, a familiar arm wrapping around his shoulders, and Peter dropped his head against the man's shoulder.

"Hey bud," he murmured, squeezing his arm, and Peter managed a smile.

"Hey."

"How are you feeling?"

He shrugged. Better. He felt better. But still not good. Mr. Stark grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around his the both of them. Suddenly the TV was a little quieter, and Tony rubbed a hand up and down his arm.

"Is it bad?"

Peter shook his head, even though it had been. It wasn't quite as bad as before, so that was something.

"You sure?"

He nodded.

"Have you been taking your meds?"

He nodded again.

"Alright, bud," He murmured, squeezing him in a quick hug. "You rest for a while. Maybe you'll feel better after a nap."

That was all the permission Peter needed, eyes drifting shut, and the last thing he heard Mr. Stark say was "Which one of you picked this shit movie, because I know it wasn't the kid."

He fell asleep with a smile on his face, the first genuine, happy one of the day.

**Thanks for reading!**


	19. When Elevators Attack

**Prompt: Peter gets stuck in something**

Peter leaned against the wall of the elevator, fingers drumming on his leg as he waited for Friday to take him up to Mr. Stark's lab. This was only his second trip to the tower to work in Mr. Stark's lab for his very newly real internship. The man had suggested it only a week after Peter had turned him down for a spot on the Avengers, which in itself had been a surprise, as Peter had been sure that he'd offended him or failed some kind of test after all...but a month ago, Happy had picked him up from school and brought him to the tower, which Mr. Stark had bought back for reasons Peter hadn't known until later.

The rogue Avengers were coming back.

He'd given Peter an overview when he'd been in the lab last time, letting him know that things were in the works with the Rogue Avengers, and that he was working on getting the team back together. Then he'd changed the subject to Peter's school and how that was going and Peter hadn't dared to try and change the subject back to the Avengers. He had a very limited chance to impress Mr. Stark, so he wasn't about to jeopardize that.

There elevator stopped at a floor he hadn't been on before, and Peter glanced up from where he'd been staring at his phone to find a face he'd only seen on the TV screen at his school and at an airport in Germany looking at him with what seemed to be an equal amount of surprise to his own. Captain Steve Rogers cleared his throat and gave Peter a quick smile and nod, stepping into the elevator and pressing one of the buttons. The one for the floor above Mr. Stark's lab. Captain Rogers, who had dropped a loading bridge on him and who had slammed a shield into his face, glanced at the buttons once more, and then at Peter.

"Do you work with Tony?"

"Um...yeah...yes sir, Captain, sir. I'm his intern."

Steve Rogers nodded, eyebrows raised. "You can just call me Steve, son. That's pretty impressive. How old are you?"

"Uh...fifteen."

"Fifteen and you have an internship with Tony? Hm…" He nodded, tilting his head towards Peter. "I didn't even know that…"

Peter's senses were going off before Steve had the chance to finish his sentence, and the man paused when Peter's eyes went wide. "Son? Are you…"

And then something snapped...and they were falling.

Peter gasped, looking around wildly as the lights shut off and the elevator plunged downward, his stomach lifting up into his throat as Steve grabbed the wall to steady himself. The cry escaped Peter's mouth before he could stifle it, and Steve reached out, grasping Peter's shoulder before there was a bang and a crash and everything went dark.

"Son? Can you hear me?"

Peter groaned when his head gave a stab of pain, and he pressed his hands to the floor, wincing when one of his wrists refused to hold his weight.

"Son?" The man beside him swore and something pressed against his throat. Fingers. A hand. "Son, can you hear me?" Peter tried to make a noise. Tried to move. But his head throbbed and his wrist throbbed and his whole body felt heavy. There was movement, and then his voice again. "Tony?" Peter heard Mr. Stark's fuzzy, far away voice through the roaring in his ears, but he couldn't make out words. "The cable must have snapped...I'm in here with your intern." A pause, and more words he couldn't catch. "Yeah your intern! Um...I don't know his name. He's, uh...a teenager. Brown hair."

Then a hand on his throat once more. Someone was squeezing his shoulder. Steve, Peter remembered. He was in the elevator with Steve Rogers. "Peter?" Silence. Was he supposed to answer? "He's not responding, Tony. He needs medical...he hit his head pretty hard, and I think he broke his wrist." A hand prodded his wrist and a cry was forced from his mouth. "Peter?"

"Missr...Rogers?" Peter asked, trying again to open his eyes, but his voice slurred so much that he couldn't even understand himself.

"I'm going to come down in the suit. Just...hang on," Mr. Stark said through the phone, and Peter could hear him a little better.

"Can I just...open the hatch? Climb out?"

"We don't know if he has spinal damage...just stay put for a second. I'll see if…" Peter felt a wave of dizziness and his stomach clenched. Swallowing hard, he forced his eyes open and stared up at the dark ceiling.

"Peter? Son, can you hear me?"

"Captain…"

"Hey...Peter, how are you feeling?" Steve asked, and Peter realized that the only light came from his cellphone pressed to his ear.

"S dark," Peter rasped, and Steve nodded, patting his shoulder.

"The cable to the elevator must have snapped. Just hang tight for a second." Then he went back to the phone conversation he'd been having. "Tony? Yeah, he's conscious. I don't know if...hey, woah…" Steve grabbed his shoulder when Peter started to sit up, only putting weight on his left hand. "Son, you should lie still."

"M'okay."

"Yeah?" Steve asked, supporting him as he sat up, resting his back against the wall. "I think you broke your wrist. How does your head feel?"

"Hurts...concussion," he muttered.

"Tony? Yeah, you want to talk to him?" And then the phone was pressed to his ear and he lifted his shaking left hand to hold it.

"Mr. Stark?" he asked, hesitant. The most he'd spoken to Mr. Stark had been at their lab day last month, and the man had been friendly, but everything still felt new. Rocky. The last thing he wanted to do was make Mr. Stark think he couldn't take care of himself. He was supposed to be proving himself! Proving that he could be a hero and proving that he was smart enough for this internship. But when Mr. Stark spoke, he didn't sound aloof. Didn't sound like he was going to make one of his jokes to cut the tension. Instead, he sounded scared.

"Pete? Kid, you alright?"

"Uh...yeah, I'm...I'm okay."

"Try again." His voice was terse, but still worried, and Peter felt himself flush.

"Concussion, maybe a broken wrist."

Mr. Stark blew out a breath. "Okay. Yeah...that's relatively okay, considering. It looks like there's another car pinning you guys down. I'll have to see if…"

Something creaked and Peter lost track of what the man was saying. Steve met his eyes in the dim lighting, then they both looked up at the ceiling, Peter handing Steve his phone back.

"Peter? Steve? Hey!" Mr. Stark was calling, but Peter felt a thrill of panic go up and down his spine, and he jumped to his feet, ignoring how lightheaded it made him feel, and shot an arm up.

"Peter!" Steve called, starting to jump up too, but the walls of the elevator car crumpled and the other car came crashing through, stopped only by Peter's hand. His knees buckled a little but he kept himself upright, just barely, his right arm hanging useless at his side.

Mr. Stark swore on the line, and Peter thought he could hear the man's voice from the elevator shaft. Steve managed to stand, ducking down and starting to help Peter hold the elevator car, hs mouth wide open. "How...how are you.."

"Um...I'm, uh...I'm Spider-Man. So, it's….it's nice to see you again, Captain."

"You're Spider-Man?"

"Yeah...um...you think you can…"

"Of course," Steve pressed his hands to the elevator car above them and straightened, helping Peter bear the weight with a groan, and Peter sighed in relief. His whole body felt weak, and when he glanced down at the floor, he realized why that was. In the dim light cast from the phone, and thanks to his enhanced vision, he could see a red puddle on the floor, and he could feel the blood dripping down the back of his neck. "How long have you…"

"Captain?" Peter interrupted, leaning against the wall, then sliding down.

"Yeah?" the man asked, turning to watch him sit. "Are you okay?"

"I think I'm gonna pass out." He placed a hand to the wound in the back of his head, then held up a hand dripping with blood.

Steve swore. "Tony!" he called toward the phone that Peter wanted to pick up but could only stare at. "Tony, you've got to get us out of here! The kid's hurt!"

"I'm working on it!" Mr. Stark shouted, voice coming from the phone and the elevator shaft, but Peter was listing sideways, dark spots joining together in his vision.

"Peter? Stay with me!"

"Sorry...sir…" Peter slumped to the side, hitting the ground and then everything went black again.

The hands that slipped under him jerked him back to consciousness. Peter groaned and tried to sit up, but the hands lifted him and held him to a metal surface...the Iron Man suit, he realized. "Mr. Stark?"

"Got it in one. What's your name?"

"I...what?"

"Your name. What's your name," Mr. Stark demanded, voice soft and robotic as it was filtered through the suit.

"Peter?"

"You know what day it is?"

"Saturday." They were moving, flying upwards, and he could smell dust that made him want to sneeze.

"How are you feeling?"

"Headache."

"I'll bet. You're bleeding all over my suit," Mr. Stark told him tightly.

"Sorry…"

"Do not apologize for having a head injury, kid."

Peter was quiet, trying to figure out if Mr. Stark was being his usual self or if he was actually upset. After a moment, the man sighed, squeezing him gently in what might have been classified as a hug.

"I'm going to get you to the medbay, kiddo. We'll get your wrist wrapped up too. I think we'll skip lab day. Don't want you blowing up the lab because you can't see straight."

"I can see…"

"We'll let a real medical doctor be the judge of that," he murmured, voice almost gentle.

"Is Captain America okay?"

"Yeah, Capsicle is fine. A suit is getting him out."

"I had to tell him…"

The suit landed on a floor, then, Mr. Stark moving quickly forward as he carried him down a familiar hallway, the lights so bright after the darkness they sent a bolt of pain through his head. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the suit and tried to hide from them.

"Yeah, I know. It's fine. Cap's not going to tell anyone." He hesitated for a moment as the suit strode forward, holding him steady against his chest. Peter's wrist hurt so badly and he took a deep breath, not wanting to risk throwing up on Iron Man on his second official day at his internship. Then, Mr. Stark spoke, breaking his concentration. "He said you stopped the elevator from crushing the both of you."

"I...yeah, I...it was falling." Peter gave a quick shrug.

"You're a pretty amazing kid, you know that?" The man's soft words took him by surprise and Peter stared up at the mask, wide-eyed. But the mask wasn't over the man's face anymore. It was gone, leaving only Mr. Stark looking down at him with an expression Peter hadn't seen on him before. He looked worried. A little sad. But also proud. It was a strange combination from a man who had seemed so...distant. But he had to squash the hope that rose up in him, fighting against his reminders to himself that this was his mentor. Only his mentor. And barely that.

"I hit my head," Peter told him, blinking and watching the world go fuzzy for a moment. Maybe this was a dream. It wasn't that Mr. Stark didn't like him. But he didn't think the man wanted to be what Peter had hoped he would be. "I miss my uncle," he muttered, not sure why he said it, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Mr. Stark's eyebrows lifted, a look of surprise covering his face. And then it softened into sadness.

"I...I'm sorry, kiddo," the man murmured, seeming to fight his own discomfort. Peter knew that the man didn't want to comfort him. Peter was just an intern. And maybe, if he was lucky, Mr. Stark would be his mentor. But he didn't think Mr. Stark was ever going to be like his uncle. He wasn't ever going to be what Peter wanted so badly...what he missed so much. The thought made heat spring to his eyes and he wondered if it was the concussion that made a tear run down his face, and then another.

"Pete?" He was being eased onto a bed and his wrist shifted but that didn't matter. He wasn't crying because of his wrist. "Kiddo...hey, the doctor's on his way. Is...is your arm…"

"I miss my uncle." He closed his eyes, head throbbing as more tears ran down his face. He could never explain to Mr. Stark exactly what he was trying to say but in the next moment, he heard the suit disengage, and then a hand, not covered in metal but covered in calluses, gripped his left hand.

"I know. I'm...I'm sorry, Pete. I'm...I'm right here, okay? You're okay."

The world tilted and darkened when a doctor came in, talking him and carefully wrapping his wrist. There was pain medication in an IV in his arm and a cast on his wrist and all through it, Mr. Stark sat at his side, his hand firmly grasping his own.

When he woke, the world coming back slowly, he tried to remember what had happened...why he was laying in a bed with a soft beeping at his side and an IV in his arm. All he could remember was an elevator. An elevator and...Steve Rogers.

"Captain America?" He asked, eyes still closed. Was the man okay? Had they gotten out?

"Close," a voice told him on his left, the word soft and fond.

"Huh?" He opened his eyes, turning his head that still hurt a little but not as bad as before...he remembered a pounding headache. Pain in his arm. When he looked down, he realized that his arm was in a cast. Beside him was Mr. Stark, and he narrowed his eyes, confused. "Mr. Stark?"

"There you go." Mr. Stark nodded, squeezing his hand.

"Is Captain America okay?"

"Yep. He's fine. You're fine. We're all fine." Peter glanced back down at his arm. "Well, you got a concussion and a broken wrist. Steve twisted his ankle which is already healed. So, yeah. Relatively fine."

"Did you get us out?"

"Sure did. They don't call me a superhero for nothing."

Peter blinked at him a few times, still tired. Still fuzzy. But he knew that Mr. Stark was there...he knew that Mr. Stark was sitting at his bedside and he felt bad. He was sure the man was busy. So, steeling himself to fall asleep alone, he tried to smile. "You can go. You're busy. I'm just going to sleep."

The man stared at him for a moment, lips pressed together, eyes large and sad. But then he shook his head. "I don't have anywhere else to be, Pete. You can sleep if you want. I'll be right here."

Peter stared at him for a moment, but the man just squeezed his hand, leaning over to pull the blanket up over his shoulders.

Iron Man was tucking him in.

And, not sure what to do with that information but not able to keep himself awake any longer, Peter drifted back into sleep.

**_Thank you for reading!_**


	20. Bang Goes The Firework

The bang shouldn't have taken Peter by surprise. He had known this was coming. Had known what was going to happen. Curling up in a ball he took deep breaths, clutching his blanket in his hands. He was in his room, he tried to remind himself. He was in his bedroom in the new apartment where Ben had never lived which a small part of him suspected that they'd only been able to afford because of a certain billionaire, but according to May, it was because she'd gotten a raise.

The sounds came one after the other and he held his breath, trying not to see it. Trying not to remember. The bang...it was too familiar. All he could see was the gun...his uncle, laying so still on the ground. The way the blood had stained his blue t-shirt, the one he'd bought along with five others in different colors when there had been a sale. But he wasn't in that alley and he wasn't even outside and those weren't gunshots! Fireworks, he reminded himself over and over. They were fireworks.

He wanted to reach for his phone...maybe call Ned and get his friend to talk to him for a little while. Or he could text MJ about the real origins of their country and read her essay length response, one of his favorite things to do. But his hands were pressed to his ears and even that offered too little protection from the explosions outside.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Bang go the fireworks. Bang goes the gun.

He could call Mr. Stark. Make up a problem with the suit and have the man walk him through fixing it. He could break something...tear the tracker out again and claim it was an accident. And then Mr. Stark would have him come by...maybe send Happy for him. But Peter didn't want to leave the apartment. Didn't want to venture outside where the noise would only be louder and where people, including Happy, might see the tear tracks on his face.

Why was he crying? They were fireworks!

Ben was lying in the alley, his breaths sounding weaker and weaker, a sickening gurgling noise that Peter would never be able to unhear. He'd been crying too hard to even try to comfort him. Instead, Peter had dropped to his knees at his side, clutching for his hand, and whispering his name over and over.

"Ben….Ben...Ben!"

He had called an ambulance, he remembered as another firework went off. Had held the phone with a bloody hand as the operator had answered. "911 what is your emergency?"

"My uncle….someone shot him...please…"

He'd stammered out a location, and then he'd been gripping his uncle's hands and sobbing out his name and the blood had soaked into his skin and no matter how much he had scrubbed that night…

"Peter?" He jumped when a hand touched his shoulder, another firework exploding into a gunshot in his mane, and then May was there, a gentle hand pressed to his cheek and wiping away a tear. "Hey, baby, what's wrong?" she asked, taking a seat on his bed beside him.

Peter took a shuddering breath, flinching when another firework went off. And he was there. He was in the alley and his heart was racing and someone was holding him so tightly, one hand holding the back of his head to a soft shoulder, the other wrapped around him.

"Oh Peter...you're safe. You're safe, baby. You're safe. It's okay. You're safe."

"Ben...the gun, he…"

"You're not there," she whispered, her voice catching. "You're not there, baby. You're safe. You're home."

"It's my fault,"

"No," she told him firmly before he could start to spiral. "Not at all. Not even a little. Ben loved you so much, baby. He'd never want you to think that. Neither do I." Her arms tightened when he flinched again, and this time it sounded like the fireworks were right outside their window."

"I had my powers…"

"I don't care. It wasn't your fault. You were his everything, Peter. He loved you more than life itself."

Another firework went off and Peter could barely hear her words. Could barely focus on her arms wrapped tight around him as he shook.

She shifted, just a little, and Peter pinned his hands over his ears as she tapped at her phone.

Bang went the firework and bang went the gun and he couldn't get out of that alley. He couldn't stop shaking as he held his uncle's hand and whispered his name over and over, choking on his words and sobbing and begging as May held him and rocked him back and forth, promising over and over again that he was safe. That he was okay. That he was home.

Another person stepped into the room at some point. May didn't let him go, nor did her heartbeat speed up. Peter's spider senses were fried, but they didn't feel like a threat and he wasn't in his room anyway. He was in the alley and the gun went off and his uncle was dying and all around him was the sound of the gun until...until it was quiet.

The silence made him jump, and he brought a hand up to his head, fingers finding thick plastic. When he looked up, he saw Mr. Stark kneeling beside him, a slight, sad smile on his face as he rested a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Better?" he mouthed.

**Bang Goes the (Firework)**

Peter swallowed hard, the tension draining from his body as he gave a weak nod, and the man patted his shoulder, nodding and stepping back as May pulled him back into a firm embrace, her arms helping to soothe the shaking that he couldn't control. A blanket was draped over him, probably by Mr. Stark, and then the man was stepping out of the room, shutting the door behind him, but May stayed. May kept her arms around him like another blanket keeping him warm and safe until the shaking finally stopped.

He could feel her talking to him...could feel the soft, soothing words that he couldn't hear. But he knew what she was saying.

"You're safe. You're safe. You're safe."


	21. I Thought You Were Dead

**Prompt: "You have to leave right now." and "****I thought you were dead."**

Tony had all but given up. And he was ashamed of it. Ashamed that he'd stopped waiting for the alerts that he had ordered Friday to send him. That he'd stopped going into the room that he'd set up in the tower for Peter...that he'd stopped calling Peter's aunt to give updates. Because there were no updates. There was nothing to say. Not to her. Not to the Avengers who halfheartedly kept up the search. They had worked so hard at the beginning, four months ago. Now...now they were giving up. And Tony didn't blame them. Not even Steve who he sometimes hated and sometimes appreciated so much.

The boy had vanished. One minute, he'd been walking home from school, the next, he'd been gone. Just...gone. Tony insisted that the CCTV had to be wrong. Had to have been tampered with. Because people didn't just blink out of existence. But there'd been no evidence of tampering. No way to find the original. Because there had to be an original. He hadn't been wearing his suit. And Tony had found his backpack in the alley nearby, complete with his suit and school books.

He was walking past the training room when he heard Nat and Sam murmuring inside. And he knew that eavesdropping was rude and all that, but it was his tower...and he needed a distraction. Needed to somehow stop thinking of the boy who had worked with him in the lab and who had been like his son and who he had loved so much...but who he'd never told. Why hadn't he told him? Why hadn't he told the boy how much he meant to him?

"I just don't think we should get his hopes up," Nat was saying, voice pitched low.

"We can't not tell him," Sam hissed.

"We need to be sure first."

"But if it's the kid…"

That was as long as Tony had been able to wait, stepping inside and feeling as thought he had heard wrong. Understood wrong. Because they couldn't be talking about his kid. Nat saw him first, pressing her lips together, and Sam turned after, arms crossed, eyes full of something like pity. Before he could even ask, Natasha started speaking. "Doctor Stephen Strange has been in contact. There is a…" she trailed off, then sighed. "A wizard."

"A wizard," Tony repeated, shaking his head, and she nodded.

"Strange wants us to collaborate. I didn't follow completely but...something to do with a wizard capturing mutants and enhanced people, especially children."

"Why?" Tony's voice was shaky...he couldn't let himself hope. Not now. Not yet. Sam swallowed hard.

"Something about experiments."

From that moment, all Tony could think was 'Peter, Peter, Peter.' All he could see when he closed his eyes was Peter...Peter with his head shoved under the water just like his had been. He knew that wasn't right. They'd said experiments, not torture. But didn't those words meant he same thing? Had Peter been tortured? For months? While Tony had failed to find him?

It was all he could think as his suit formed around him. As he climbed into the jet. As Steve piloted the ship and as, all around him, the Avengers and Stephen Strange, who had briefly introduced himself, all he could think about was Peter. He'd let him down. He'd failed him. But he would find him now. He had to. Hope had started to kindle in his chest and now he couldn't let it die. He couldn't lose Peter again. Couldn't let himself lose hope. Peter had to be there. He had to bring him home. There was no other way this could go. No other outcome Tony would be able to live with.

The fighting went on and Tony didn't care. He didn't stop to help the others. Didn't watch as Dr. Strange made light appear with his shaking hands, or watch the other man do the same. Didn't watch their epic battle. Instead, he followed the little dot that Friday had brought up in his display. There were several, all body heat signatures. All prisoners, he assumed. He blasted open door after door, passing child after child that he would get help for, he swore, he would make sure these children made it out of here alive. But he had to find Peter.

It was the only thing that mattered.

Peter was the fifteenth child he saw. At first, he wasn't even sure it was him. The boy in the bed was emaciated, with his head nearly shaved, wrists so thin he could see his bones. The boy didn't move when Tony blasted his door open, just lay still, mouth partially open as he wheezed for breath in his sleep.

"Peter." The word tumbled out of Tony's mouth as he left his suit standing guard, stumbling into the cell and dropping to his knees at Peter's side. A shaking hand lifted, then rested on Peter's chest, feeling the boy breathe. Closing his eyes, he dropped his head onto Peter's shoulder, choking on the sob that burst out of him. "Peter...Peter, Peter…" He was alive. Peter was alive.

After a moment, he moved his hand to the boy's cheek, pressing gently. "Peter...buddy...hey, wake up. Can you wake up?" he pleaded, ignoring the tears running down his face. "Please? Please, buddy. Please wake up."

And slowly, painfully slowly, Peter's eyes fluttered. The boy's gazed was dull and unfocused, but when it finally turned to Tony, his eyes narrowed in confusion. "Mr...Mr. Stark?" he rasped, and just those words seemed to take up almost all the energy he had.

"Peter...oh god, Peter...I thought you were dead!"

"You have to get out...Mr. Stark...you have to leave...right now…" Peter gasped, trying and failing to sit up before dropping back onto the cot. "You...you have to...he's...he's a wizard and…"

"I know," Tony assured him, cupping the side of his face, fingers brushing against too-short hair. "The Avengers are all here. And we've got a wizard too. It's okay. I'm here to get you out. We're going to get you out of here."

"I..I can't get up," Peter slurred, eyes drooping, and Tony shook his head, dropping it and resting his forehead against Peter's.

"That's okay...it's okay, buddy. I can carry you."

"He...he wanted...to figure out how...how I got powers and…" Peter blinked, struggling to stay awake. "Hurt...it hurts…"

"I know," Tony whispered, tears running down his cheeks and dripping onto Peter's. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Pete. We're going to get you to the medbay. I'll get a doctor to help you. We have that pain medicine, remember? The kind that works on you. That's going to make it better." He sniffed, slipping a hand under Peter's back to pull him up. The boy grimaced, going stiff, and Tony moved carefully, pulling Peter upright to wrap his arms around him. "I love you. I love you so much, Pete. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Peter brought up a shaking arm to wrap around Tony, gripping his shirt so the arm didn't fall. "Love you too...it's okay."

By the time the other Avengers reached them, Tony was sitting on the little bed, back against the wall, Peter cradled in his arms. The boy had lost the battle with unconsciousness, but all Tony could do was listen to him breathe...watch his chest rise and fall.

Revel in the fact that the boy was alive.

The rest...the experiments and the damage done, the fear and the trauma...all of that would have to be dealt with later. For now, he just wanted to hold his son.


	22. No Big Deal

**_Prompt: Peter gets hurt and doesn't tell anyone, then gets sepsis_**

_No Big Deal_

Peter was sure that the cut was no big deal, despite the fact that the technical term for it was probably 'Stab wound.' The painful hole right above his hip had come from a dirty looking knife wielded by a dirty looking man who had apparently been hiding out in the sewers, which was gross, and who Peter had managed to web up right after the man had plunged said dirty knife into his side. After having his AI call the police, he'd managed to crawl up to the roof of the nearest building, pressing his hand against the hole in his side and laying down, taking deep breaths through the pain and waiting for his healing to take care of it. Because surely it would. He'd never been hurt in a way that his healing hadn't fixed.

It had taken a few minutes for the pain to ebb for long enough that Peter could sit up, still holding pressure. "Peter, I believe you should call for help," Karen had suggested, her robotic voice soft and persuasive, but Peter had shaken his head, knowing that there was no reason to call anyone when the bleeding had already slowed down, and remembering the phone calls to Happy that had gone unanswered.

No way he was going to annoy Happy with this. He was already on thin ice with May, who had called Mr. Stark moments after finding him in his suit and had a long, hushed, furious conversation with the man that Peter had not been allowed to join in, so he figured he was on thin ice with Mr. Stark too. No need to add Happy to the list of people irritated with him.

Which brought him to the bathroom in his apartment, twisting and doing his best to clean the tender cut, which had now actually closed into something resembling a cut, with a cold wash rag. Every slight touch was agonizing, and Peter breathed through clenched teeth as he got himself cleaned up and into a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt.

Leaning against the bathroom wall, Peter panted and closer his eyes, looking around the bathroom for his phone. Had he brought his phone in here? He couldn't remember...it was almost impossible to think through the pain. He knew he needed to sleep...knew he needed to eat something too. But his whole body felt so heavy and his eyes were refusing to stay open. Any adrenaline he'd had before had completely worn off, and even the thought of walking to his bed felt impossible. But he couldn't risk falling asleep in the bathroom and freaking May out.

Gripping the wall with sticky hands, he managed to step out of the bathroom, feet dragging along the floor in an attempt not to aggravate the injury he'd covered with a gauze pad. It hurt. Every step and every breath made the pain spike, but there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't exactly have a real medical kit, or any drugs that worked with his system.

He found his phone on the floor by his suit, and he started to bend over to get it, but a stabbing pain that went all the way from his side to his fingertips halted his movements, and he stood there for a moment, lips pressed together in a tight line as he waited, half bent over, for the pain to let up enough for him to move again.

"Karen?" he called, his voice breaking a little as tears threatened to spill from his tightly shut eyes.

"Yes, Peter?" the AI asked faintly from the suit he'd left pooled on his bedroom floor.

For a moment, he considered it. Was this something he really wanted to call Happy for? A little cut on his side that was already healing. Shaking his head, he stumbled over to his bed, holding his breath as he gingerly lay down. It was fine. Now that he was laying on his back, the pain was bearable and he could breathe again and it would be fine.

So he closed his eyes, ignoring the soft, not quite robotic voice that called for him again.

His dreams were strange and fuzzy. He felt sweaty in them, like he was wrapped in a blanket too tightly in the summer and he couldn't figure out how to get out of it. Slowly, as his fevered dreams of running and never making it to his destination, of fighting a clock he couldn't see to accomplish a goal he couldn't remember continued to play out, the pain got worse and worse until it was all he knew, even in his sleep.

Peter jerker awake, gasping for air that seemed limited somehow...like he couldn't quite get enough. He opened his mouth and fought to breathe, pressing his hands to the bed, but he couldn't sit up. He couldn't get his arms to take his weight. All he could do was drop back down the few centimeters he'd managed to lift himself and shake. He was cold, he realized when his body was once more wracked with chills. He was so, so cold. And the pain…it was like nothing he'd ever felt.

The tears did escape then, and he let out a helpless sob as his head sunk into the pillow, hands reaching for blankets he couldn't find. Was he at home? Or...or on the rooftop? Had he made it off the rooftop?

Peter blinked up at the ceiling but he couldn't remember if it was his ceiling. Was this his apartment? Why was he suddenly so cold? Lifting his shirt, he tried to get a good look at the place where the pain originated, but he couldn't even sit up enough for that. "Karen?" he called, tears streaming down his face as his voice caught on a sob once more. "Karen!"

"Yes, Peter?" the voice from his suit asked. Was he wearing the suit? No...no it was on the floor. With his phone. He needed it...but he couldn't move. All he could do was lay there and pant for air and shake and he wanted a blanket more than anything but he couldn't find one!

"I...I need help. Call...call Happy...please."

"Of course, Peter."

Faintly, he could hear the line ringing in his suit, and he thought that he should try to get closer to the phone or the suit or whatever it was but he couldn't even roll over...couldn't sit up or breathe right or even keep his eyes open. But after a moment, he heard Happy's soft, far away voice. "What do you want, kid?" the man grumbled, and Peter wondered what time it was. May was supposed to get home on Saturday afternoon and then she'd need to sleep. But...but where was Happy? "Kid?" the man barked, and Peter sucked in a breath, trying to get enough air to speak.

"Happy?" he gasped, practically running out of air halfway through the man's name. "Happy?"

"Peter? It's two in the morning. What…"

"Happy, something...something's wrong...I can't…"

"Peter? What's…". The man's voice faded out and Peter's chest hurt and his eyes were closed. Had then been closed before?

His door opened. Was May home early? He blinked, mouth still open as he gasped for air and barely got any. "Peter? Peter!" He blinked again and Happy was there, a hand pressing against his forehead and then pulling away. The hand had been cold and he wanted it back, despite how cold he was. "You have to talk to me, kid! What's going on?"

"I...I can't reach...the blanket...I...I'm cold...and…". He was panting between words and couldn't say anymore. Couldn't breathe!

"Okay...okay, kid. You...you've got to breathe. You...shit…". The man stood over him, wide-eyed and afraid as Peter started to hyperventilate. "Where are you hurt? What happened?"

"The...the knife...was…". He didn't know where he was going with that...didn't know what he was trying to say. How has Happy gotten here. He shifted his arm and tried to pull his shirt up, and, catching on, the man lifted his shirt, pushing a blanket aside, and then he went still, eyes wide. "Happy…"

"Okay. We're going to the hospital. Now. Can you sit up?"

Peter started to shake his head, but the man was tugging his upright and the pain made starbursts explode behind his eyes as he screamed, the sound so agonized and raw that it surprised even him. Immediately he was laying back down, Happy's frantic voice saying something over and over but he didn't understand…. couldn't catch what the man was saying until the roaring in his ears went away.

"...rry, I'm sorry...shit kid...I'm sorry. Hold on. Just..I'll call an ambulance, okay. You don't have to move. You're okay."

Then the man was talking to someone else, words coming so fast that Peter couldn't catch up...he only caught the occasional one like "fever" and "pain" but he didn't understand. Taking another breath he tried to explain. "Knife...but it was...okay...it...closed…". He pressed a hand to his chest when even those words hurt.

"Shut up, kid. It's fine. Help is coming. You just keep breathing."

"But...didn't...want...to...bug you...know you...don't...like me…"

There was a long, stunned silence but Peter couldn't open his eyes or breathe right or remember if he'd told Happy about the knife. Had he explained the knife? The wound that had closed up?

"Kid…". Happy broke off, sounding like he was choking for a second before clearing his throat and pressing on. "I like you, Peter. You're a good kid. I need you to call me if something like this happens, okay? If you need me, you can always call me."

Peter didn't know how much time passed. He didn't know if Happy kept talking. All he knew was pain that radiated from his side and went through every extremity, making it impossible to move without it pulling in time with his heartbeat. His chest hurt too, but differently. A pressure was there, like someone was sitting on him and he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe and someone was yelling and he really couldn't breathe!

Things happened in flashes, awareness coming and going. A tube scraping the back of his throat and air inflating his lungs without his help. A pinch in his wrist. Pain in his side like nothing he'd ever felt...pain so sharp and consuming that he didn't think he could survive it. People all around him, some saying his name, some touching his eyes and pulling his eyelids back, some covering him with a blanket and standing at his side, doing things he didn't understand. The movement was the only constant. Everyone but him was moving almost frantically, but he couldn't keep up. Couldn't move and couldn't speak. So, finally, Peter slept.

This time, his dreams were calmer. Softer. Quieter. He was floating and drifting and...dying? Was he dying? Before it had felt like it. It had felt like dying. So...was he...dying? He wasn't afraid. The pain was better, at least. Still there, but not so awful and all-consuming that he couldn't breathe around it. In fact, there was something under his nose and he could breathe almost easily.

He scrunched his nose and took a deeper breath, experimenting. The air came, lungs inflating, and the pressure in his chest was gone. He was covered in a blanket, he realized as he tried to move and found that his hands were laying on something, but that his feet were under something.

And then he opened his eyes.

The ceiling was unfamiliar and the room was dark, but he could hear noises. Beeping and soft voices. Footsteps and heartbeats...and one heartbeat closer than all the rest. He turned his head and blinked in surprise to find May siting in a chair beside him, her hands clasped as if in prayer, her face hidden behind them.

"May?" he asked, his voice a croak. His aunt jumped, turning to look at him for a moment, eyes red-rimmed, before she burst into tears, dropping her face back into one hand and gripping his hand with the other one. Stunned, he could only blink at her, and the beeping of the machine beside him started to speed up.

"Oh, God...Peter...God…" Her shoulders shook and he opened his mouth and closed it, feeling tears spring to his own eyes.

"May? May…it's okay. I'm…"

"It is not okay!" she cried, shaking her head and looking up at him. "It's not okay! You…you almost died, Peter. You…"

The words hit him right in the chest and his mouth dropped open. "What? May, it was just…"

"It was just a stab wound from a knife covered in bacteria! It was just a hole in your side that you didn't clean out and that closed on its own and...and it nearly killed you!" She was practically yelling, but tears poured down her cheeks and she gripped his hand almost too tightly. "And you didn't even call for help until sepsis had already set in and...and Harold had to call an ambulance because he couldn't move you! And you were...you were dying!"

Peter forced himself to sit up a little, pulling on her hand until she got up and moved over to his bed, dropping carefully beside him and pulling him into her arms.

"I wasn't there...you were dying and I wasn't even…"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, May. I swear, I didn't know. I didn't know it was that bad."

"And you keep going out and putting yourself in danger…"

"I know. I'm sorry…"

"You kept screaming and fighting the vent and they couldn't restrain you...they couldn't do surgery until Tony Stark came in with drugs he kept insisting would work on you…"

"Wait...what?"

She wiped her eyes, looking more tired than he'd ever seen her. "Because of your metabolism. They couldn't find anything that would work, but Tony came with one of his doctors and Pepper Potts and they made everyone sign NDAs and they brought medicine that worked on you."

"Are they still here?" he asked, wide-eyed. He'd assumed that Mr. Stark was mad at him. Mad for turning him down when he'd been invited to join the Avengers and mad that Peter's aunt had all but scolded him.

"Pepper left to speak with some lawyers a few hours ago. Tony and Harold are in the waiting room."

"But...why?"

She frowned, brushing his hair back. "Peter, you know I don't really trust Tony Stark. And I'm not happy about him giving you a superhero suit and not telling me. But...he was worried. The ambulance got you here at two something this morning...I got the call when I was on my shift. Tony got here an hour and a half later. It's almost midnight now...he's been here all day."

Peter stared at her, letting the words sink in as she wiped her eyes, seeming calmer now. Still, she clutched his hand, not ready to let go. He didn't mind. He wasn't ready to let go either. It was all too much. Mr. Stark cared about him, at least enough to wait around all day in a hospital while he was unconscious. Happy had brought him in.

He had almost died.

He sort of remembered. He remembered the pain...the worst pain he'd ever felt in his life. He remembered struggling to breathe. And he remembered Happy's pale face and his shaking hands trying to pull Peter to his feet.

"How are you feeling?" May asked, brushing his hair back.

"I'm okay...I'm sorry I scared you."

She pursed her lips, giving him a faint smile before leaning in and kissing his temple. "I love you, baby. So much. You're...you're all I have and...I can't lose you, Peter. I can't." Placing a hand on his cheek, she gave him another watery smile, lips trembling. "Please...just...the next time you get hurt, please, call someone. Right away."

"I just…I didn't want to bug anyone. I didn't think it was a big deal."

"It was. It was a very big deal. From now on, all stab wounds are a big deal, okay?"

He nodded. "Okay."

"Good. So…how would you feel about a visitor?" He frowned in confusion. "Tony asked me if he could see you when you woke up. He's been worried."

"Oh...he...he doesn't have to…"

"Honey, he was worried," she repeated. "Really worried. He thought…I mean, we all thought you were…". She shook her head as if clearing it. "It was touch and go for a while, even with the medicine he brought. So...would you like to see him?"

"Oh...um….okay. Yeah. If you think...I mean, if he wants to."

She smiled, sitting up and brushing his hair back. "He does. I'm going to run home if that's okay. I need to change."

"You should get some sleep. I'll probably be asleep soon anyway." She hesitated, and he knew she must be exhausted if she was even considering it, so he pushed a little harder. "I'll be fine, I promise. Go home and sleep and I'll see you tomorrow."

She softened, nodding a little. "Okay, baby. I'll see you tomorrow." With one last kiss pressed to his hair, she turned and left the room, glancing back at him once more before disappearing around the corner. Peter lay back against the pillow, considering sitting up, but he didn't know where the remote was, so he gave up, taking deep breaths and enjoying the ability to. He couldn't believe it was already midnight. He'd missed a whole day! Had Ned tried to text him? Had anyone told his friend what was going on?

A soft knock on the door surprised him and he looked up to find a nurse standing there. "Peter? I just wanted to check on you really quick." She stepped inside and picked up the chart at the end of his bed, scanning it. "How are you feeling? It's good to see you awake."

"I'm fine. Just kind of tired."

"That's to be expected. We've had you on some very strong pain medication and antibiotics. You had to have surgery and we stitched up the wound on your side. Are you in any pain?" she asked, lifting the blanket and the hospital gown and taking a look at his side. He couldn't see it, but she seemed satisfied.

"Um….it's not too bad." Actually, the pain was still there, a throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and trying to sit up had only made it worse. She gave him a critical once over.

"Scale of one to ten?"

"Like...a four?" he lied. Actually, it was more of a six, but before, it had been a fifteen out of ten, so he didn't want to complain. Still, she moved over to the iv stand beside him and adjusted something, then hit a button.

"That should help with the pain, and help you get some sleep. Do you need anything else?"

Peter shook his head because suddenly, the pain was gone and he felt great. Really great. Like floaty, in the best way, and totally comfortable. Warm. Happy. It all came to him in a rush and he felt the tension drain from his muscles as he seemed to turn to mush in the bed.

There was another knock on the door and he blinked over at the man standing in the hallway, surprised to find Iron Man there before remembering that May had already told him that Mr. Stark would be coming up to his room.

"You didn't have to…". Peter mumbled as the man approached, his face drawn and worried. "I'm fine. You didn't have to wait…all day?"

The man lifted an eyebrow, then gave a faint smile, perching on the chair beside Peter's bed. "Are you high right now?"

"I'm...I told her it was a four but she didn't believe me...it was really six."

"Right. Good to know," Mr. Stark chuckled, shaking his head a little. "So I guess you're feeling better."

"Floaty," Peter agreed, closing his eyes and dropping his head against the pillow.

"Well, I'll just have to tell you all of this twice, I guess. All of the doctors and nurses signed NDAs, so your identity is safe."

"NBA? I...I like basketball…". Peter murmured, smiling when Mr. Stark snorted.

"Close. NDA. It's...actually, forget it. It doesn't matter. Your secret identity is safe. That's all you need to know. And I brought the good drugs from the compound, so you can be high as a kite until you're feeling better."

"Feel better…". Peter nodded. He was so warm and comfortable and he was so grateful to Mr. Stark for that. Did Mr. Stark know that he'd almost died? "Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah, kid?"

Peter opened his eyes and found the man regarding him with a half smirk. "I...I was dying."

The man's smile dropped immediately and the blood seemed to drain from his face, leaving him pale and...old-looking. His jaw went tight and it was a moment before he nodded. "I know. It's a good thing you called Happy when you did."

"I didn't think it was bad," Peter tried to explain, the words floating out of his grasp. "I...I knew you were mad…Happy doesn't like me…"

Mr. Stark shook his head, leaning in closer, his brown eyes wide and intense. "Peter, hey, look at me for a second." Peter tried, blinking and trying to focus. "I was not mad at you. I swear. And even if I was, if you're hurt, I still want you to call me. And don't think I didn't notice the suit didn't call me when you got stabbed. I'll be fixing that and installing better firewalls. But...hey…". The man was smiling a little when Peter opened his eyes again. Had he shut them? "I know I'm going to have to repeat this since you're obviously not going to remember , but it bears repeating. You can always call one of us if you're hurt. We're always going to come if you need us. And I put my number in your phone. Call me whenever you need me. Okay?"

"Call you?" Peter asked, confused and trying to keep up.

"Yeah, Pete. Call me."

"I have your number?"

"You sure do."

"I said no." The man frowned, tilting his head, so Peter tried to explain. "Avengers. You asked...but...I can't…"

"Hey, hey...it's good that you turned me down. You need some time on the ground. Keep looking out for the little guy. The Avengers are ready to have you whenever you're ready to join. Okay?"

"Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah?"

"There's a hole in my suit. Sorry." Peter smiled when the man gave a short laugh.

"I know. Figured the knife had to get into you somehow. How about I show you how to fix it when you're feeling better? You can come up to the compound, okay? We'll fix the suit. I'll order dinner. It'll be great. Okay?"

Peter blinked at him, trying to remember what the question had been, but he felt so...floaty. And tired. He wanted to sleep. "Mr. Stark?"

"What's up, kid?"

"It's a zero now. Negative five. No...less. Smaller."

"Yeah, okay. Good to know Underoos. Get some sleep and we'll do this again in the morning."

"You...don't have to...stay…" he muttered, eyes drifting shut. The man beside him sighed softly, and he felt a hand ruffle his hair, then rest on his head.

"I'll be here when you wake up. May too, I'm sure. Just sleep."

That sounded like an excellent idea, so Peter did.

_**Thank you for reading!**_


	23. Lost And Found

**Prompt: Clint fixes up a hurt Peter**

When it came to house arrest, Clint thought that being stuck at his farm wasn't the worst thing in the world. He got to be with his kids. He got to spend time with his wife. He finally got to work on fixing the thousand little things he had always meant to get around to. It was like the retirement he'd always wanted. But, he had to admit as he strolled down the streets of New York City, it was good to be free too.

Of course, he wasn't the only one. The others, Cap and Nat and Wanda, were all around, he was sure, even if they hadn't taken the house arrest option. Even if they'd chosen to live their lives on the run. And what about Stark and his new Spider sidekick, Clint wondered. Where were they in this Accords mess. Stark hand wanted their team to fall apart. But what did he call this? With half of them on the run, two on house arrest (if you counted Scott as an Avenger) and Stark moving to the Compound upstate, how were they supposed to be any kind of team anymore?

And part of him was nervous. He could admit it. He was nervous because Stark always insisted that there was something coming. Something big. And if something big came and they weren't a team or even on speaking terms, who was going to protect the Earth? Who was going to avenge the citizens of their planet if something terrible truly did just show up from space one day?

He sighed and shook his head. All he'd wanted was a New York hotdog. No need to obsess over threats from outer space when he couldn't do anything about them anyway. So Clint headed for his favorite hot dog vendor that, coincidentally, was only about six blocks from the tower. He'd promised his wife that this would be a short trip into the city to pick up some things and meet with the 'rogue Avengers,' so he didn't have a ton of time. Still, he needed a hot dog. Maybe two hotdogs. And a coke.

Rubbing a hand over his face and yawning, Clint checked the time and started to turn the corner when he heard it. Pausing in the middle of the sidewalk, he tilted his head, then turned, backtracking a few steps. He could have sworn he heard something hit a dumpster...like a body. Sighing at himself for being unable to leave his work at work where it belonged, Clint started to keep walking. Started to go back to his hot dogs and his plans. But, when it came down to it, he couldn't do it. He couldn't resist just a glance. So he turned around once more with another sigh, stepping into the alley and looking around. He didn't see anything. The dumpster lid was shut, and there were no muggings in progress or anything. And he thought about getting back to his hot dog but he had to check. So he stepped into the alley, taking another look around. He lifted the dumpster lid and peeked in, wrinkling his nose at the smell and then dropping it again. And that's when he saw it. A foot.

Heart rate kicking up a notch, Clint hurried around to the other side of the dumpster and knelt beside the masked man lying there. It was the Spider guy...the one from the airport. Only now he was laying slumped on the ground, head resting on the side of the dumpster, a hand braced against his abdomen where a red stain was spreading. The man was breathing heavily, breath catching in what sounded like a sob, and the lenses of his mask widened when he caught sight of Clint.

"Hey...take it easy. You're alright. What am I working with here?" Clint asked, moving the man's gloved hand away from the wound on his abdomen and flinched at the sight. Stab wound. Bad stab wound in a bad place.

He'd been stabbed in the stomach. And Clint didn't carry around a first aid kid.

So he pulled out his phone, dialing the first person that came to mind. Thankfully, she answered after only three rings. "You ready?"

"Change of plans. I need some help. It's the Spider-guy. From Germany. Stark's guy. He's hurt."

She was silent for a moment before answering. "How bad?"

"Stab wound to the abdomen. He's gonna need blood, stitches, antibiotics, whole nine yards. Fast." Clint spoke softly and as quickly as he could as he put pressure on the stab wound. The man kept breathing and Clint wanted to get him talking. Keep him conscious.

"I'm on my way. I'll bring Sam."

With that, he hung up the phone and turned his attention to the man in the suit. "Help is on the way, don't worry."

"Mr...Mr. Stark...he…" Spider-guy coughed, choking on another sob, and Clint gripped his shoulder, trying to help him stay upright and away from the dumpster.

"Look, I can't get in touch with Tony right now. Hell, I doubt he'd even answer the phone. But Sam and Natasha are on their way and you're going to be fine. We'll get you patched up." The guy made another choked noise and Clint reached for his mask, ignoring how the man shook his head. "It's going to help you breathe, okay? I'm not going to tell anyone who you are, I swear."

The man started to shake his head again but Clint was already lifting gently on the bottom of the fabric, lifting it over the man's face only to find himself stopping short, heart pounding. Because it wasn't a man who had been stabbed in the stomach and left in an alley. It was a boy. A teenager. Stark had brought a teenager to Germany. Thoughts of his own kids, of Lila, who was surely around this boy's age, or Cooper running around the city and trying to fight crime...of lying in an alley behind a dumpster, bleeding out and crying, filled his mind and he had to blink them away, doing everything he could not to dwell. The boy's face was pale underneath the blotchy red spots on his cheeks and the tears that he couldn't seem to stop.

Clint swallowed hard and forced himself to smile. Tried to pretend that he didn't keep seeing his own boy sitting there on the ground, sobbing and shaking and trusting Clint, a virtual stranger, to help him. "Hey...you're going to be okay," Clint tried to assure him. "It's been a while, huh? Haven't seen you since Germany and we didn't really get the chance to chat much. I'm Clint. What's your name?"

The boy struggled to take a breath, and when he spoke, his voice was raspy and wet. "Peter."

"Alright, Peter. I called Natasha and she's on her way with Sam. They're going to help me fix you up. Think you can tell me what happened?"

"I...disabled the tracker…"

"Okay…there's a tracker in your suit?"

"Mr. Stark...so he knows...if...if I get hurt…"

"Right...so you disabled it and now Stark doesn't know that you're hurt?" Peter nodded, eyes falling to half-mast as his chin started to droop to his chest. "Woah...hey, Peter? Kid, You've gotta stay with me, okay? I'm going to try and get ahold of Stark..." Before he could even finish the sentence, a car pulled up to the curb and Natasha jumped out followed closely by Sam, the two of them jogging into the alley and dropping to their knees beside the boy who barely seemed to register their presence.

"What's his name?" Nat barked as Clint continued to apply pressure and Sam lifted one of the boy's eyelids.

"Peter," Clint answered, lowering his eyes for a moment and clenching his jaw. A child. A teenager. Just a few years older than his own boy.

"Hey, Peter, stay with us," Sam urged, shaking his shoulder gently as he pressed his fingers to his throat, feeling for a pulse. "Peter? Hey, Spider-Man, right? I've seen you on Youtube. Pretty cool stuff." He turned to Clint. "Help me get him to the car. Nat, get a hold of Steve. Tell him we're going to need blood...he's losing a lot of it. We've got to get this cleaned out and stitched up."

Clint moved to the boy's other side and lifted Peter's arm over his shoulders as Sam did the same on his other side. Peter's chin dropped to his chest, coughing weakly and shuddering, and the two men carried the boy as quickly as they could to the car, Natasha climbing into the driver's seat and stepping on it, the phone sandwiched between her ear and her shoulder. Once they were in the back seat, Clint shifted and let the boy's head rest on his shoulder as Sam pressed hard on his stomach. "Peter? Peter! Open your eyes."

The kid coughed and shivered again, and Clint rubbed a hand over his shoulder. "Peter? Hey, kiddo, you're okay."

"Mr. Stark?" the boy muttered, turning his head and left and right as if looking for the man. Sam met Clint's eyes for a moment, his lips pressed together in a tight line.

"We're going to call him, okay? We'll get him to come pick you up as soon as we can."

"Mr. Stark?"

"That's right. We'll call Tony. We'll get him out here and you're going to be fine."

As soon as they pulled up to the warehouse that Clint assumed they were using as their home base, they carried the boy inside, laying him down on a cot that Steve had apparently set up, and Sam and Steve got to work. Clint took a few steps back, not wanting to watch...not wanting to see his own boy laying there, out of it, with an army paramedic and a glorified World War II showgirl the only ones there to save his life. Of course, Peter wasn't his kid. But he was someone's kid.

Tony's? Was this Tony's kid? If it was, why did Peter call him 'Mr. Stark?' Was it supposed to be some kind of cover? Either way, the boy had been asking for him, so, no matter how he personally felt about Tony Stark, he was going to call him. Pulling out the burner that Natasha had given him weeks ago on a secret trip out to his farm, he dialed the number he'd long ago memorized. Hitting the 'call' button, he closed his eyes and took deep breaths, all too aware that the last thing he'd said to Tony had something to do with 'finding a knife in his back.' And he was still angry...still angry that Tony had taken the side of Ross. Still angry that half of the Avengers had been forced to go into hiding while Tony had moved to the compound. Still angry about the Raft, and Wanda, and even Bucky despite everything.

But what if this was Tony's kid? What would he hope Tony would do if he found Cooper or Lila bleeding out in an alley behind a New York City dumpster. And when it came down to it, he knew exactly what Tony Stark would do if he found Clint's kid, or any kid, bleeding out in an alley. Because he knew what kind of person Tony Stark was. And he knew, when it came down to it, he would always have Tony's back, just like Tony would have his.

The line rang five times before Tony's voice, soft and confused, answered. "Barton?"

"Hey, Tony." Clint swallowed hard, glancing back at the boy in the bed. He hadn't made a noise, even though Clint knew that they had cleaned out his wound and how painful that process was. So he was unconscious...maybe that was better. "I, uh...I'm in New York and I think I found something that belongs to you."

"Oh yeah?" Tony asked, hesitant.

"Uh...brown eyes. Brown hair. Answers to Peter."

There was a long, stunned silence, and then Tony spoke again, this time sounding almost angry as he lowered his voice. "What the hell do you mean, Barton? Where's Peter?"

"I found him in an alley. Someone stabbed him."

"Stabbed him?" the man repeated, incredulous, fear creeping into his voice.

"Yeah. Sam and Steve are fixing him up. Any chance you know his blood type?"

"B positive," he answered so quickly that it just confirmed it for Clint. So this was Tony Stark's kid. Why else would Tony immediately know his blood type? Also, how had Tony kept a secret child hidden from the Avengers and the world for so long? And why? "Is he okay?"

"B positive!" Clint called, and Natasha gave a quick nod. "I don't know yet. And he was wearing something...interesting."

"He was in the suit? It should have alerted me…"

"He said he disabled the tracker...but he was pretty out of it."

Tony swore on the other line, and Clint watched as Natasha brought a bag of what he assumed was B positive blood to the boy's bedside, blocking Peter's face from view. "Can I talk to him?" The man's tone had gone soft, hopeful, and Clint blinked in surprise.

"He's, uh...he's kind of out of it. But he's in good hands."

"Give me the address and I can get there. I'll get him to my med team. They've worked with him before...they know what they're doing."

"I, uh...I'm not sure I'm allowed to do that."

"Barton," Tony started, but Clint butted in.

"Look, just let Sam and Steve focus for a few minutes and…"

"Give me the phone," Natasha commanded suddenly, a hand held out, and without hesitation, Clint handed it over. "Tony?" Clint couldn't hear the man's response, but then Natasha was carrying the phone away and so he moved closer to the bed where Steve and Sam still worked in tense silence.

"How is he?" Clint asked, catching sight of the oxygen mask over the boy's pale face and the needles in his arms.

"We've got him sewed up. He's still unconscious and we don't have much in the way of medical equipment but his blood pressure is still low," Sam told him softly, removing a blood pressure cuff from the boy's arm.

"He's got a healing factor, so that's helping."

"Tony is on his way." Natasha approached then, holding out the phone and placing it in Clint's hand.

"Tony?" Sam demanded, lifting an eyebrow. "As in Tony Stark? As in the man that had us arrested?"

"To be fair, he was trying to stop us from being arrested," Nat put in, shrugging a little.

"So even after all this time, you're taking his side?" Sam asked, crossing his arms, the blood pressure cuff still in one hand.

"Look, it was a hard situation. And whatever you think of Tony, there's no way he'd give us up to Ross, not when he's the one that helped me get you guys out of the Raft." Steve looked between Sam and Natasha. "Besides, we can move the base if we have to."

"Mr. Stark?" The soft words startled all of them, and the four of them all turned to find Peter sitting up a little before dropping back onto the cot, breath fogging up the oxygen mask as he tugged at the IV line in his arm. "Where…"

"Hey, take it easy, kid," Sam urged, moving into the boy's line of sight and kneeling beside him. "Peter? Can you hear me?"

The boy blinked at him as the others watched, grimacing when he tried to sit up again, dropping back against the pillow once more. "Where...where's Mr. Stark?"

"Peter, do you know who I am?"

"Falcon," Peter told him immediately, looking a little nervous about the fact.

"That's right. You can call me Sam. Clint found you...you were stabbed. Do you remember that?"

"I...yeah…"

"We patched you up. You're going to be fine." Sam reached out and squeezed Peter's shoulder. "We called Tony. He's on his way." That seemed to satisfy the boy and he nodded a little, eyes drifting shut once more.

In the end, Clint sat down to wait with him while Natasha headed outside to keep an eye out for Tony and Steve and Sam left to discuss whether or not they wanted to move their secret hideout now that Tony would know about this one. Clint couldn't make himself care either way...all he could think about was this kid, a teenage boy, laying on a cot with bandages wrapped around his abdomen and an oxygen mask pressed to his face. A teenage boy who had been crying in an alley. Alone. "Hey, kid...can you hear me?" The boy's eyes fluttered open, and Clint made himself smile. "Try to stay awake, alright? Tony is on his way."

"Mr. Stark?" The kid shifted on the bed, flinching and bringing a hand up to his stomach. The suit had been cut away at his waist, and Clint wondered idly how much they owed Stark for it. Surely it had been expensive.

"That's right. Hey, Peter?"

"Hm?"

"How old are you?"

"I'm…" Peter blinked, seeming to try and focus. "I'm almost sixteen."

Fifteen years old. The boy was fifteen years old. "How, uh...how do you know Tony?"

"I'm his intern." He blinked again, sighing and taking deep breaths of the oxygen being pumped to his face. "Can...can I sleep?"

"Not just yet, kiddo. You need to stay awake until Tony gets here." Besides, Clint wanted to know more. His intern? Surely Peter wasn't just Tony's intern.

"He's gonna be mad."

He furrowed his brow. "Why would he be mad, Peter?"

"I...I messed with the suit and...and I wasn't supposed to."

"You mean the tracker?" Peter hummed in agreement, nodding a little. "Well, he sounded worried on the phone. I'm sure he won't be too mad."

Peter grimaced as though he didn't agree, and Clint hoped he was right. Surely Tony couldn't be all that mad...he knew he wouldn't be able to hold onto any kind of anger if it was his kid laying in what amounted to a hospital bed.

When the Iron Man suit stepped into the room almost an hour later, after Sam had come back into the room to remove the IV's, Peter had dropped back into unconsciousness, and Clint glanced up at Tony just in time to see the mask of his suit flip up. Tony was starting at the kid, lips pursed, jaw tight, and despite the anger Clint still felt whenever he thought about the Raft and months of house arrest, he couldn't help the pang that went through him when he saw the fear in Tony's eyes.

"He's been in and out. Said he was worried you'd be mad."

Tony shook his head, the suit disassembling around him before he approached Peter's bed. "He should be worried. I am mad." The words didn't fool Clint for a second, not when Tony placed the back of his hand against Peter's forehead, then moved it to the boy's hair, leaving his hand there for a moment, eyes taking over him. "He disabled the tracker that I put there for a very good reason. Damn teenagers."

Clint's lip twitched. "Yeah...they're the worst, huh?"

"The worst," Tony agreed in a voice that shook. "You hear that, kid? The absolute worst."

On the bed, the boy frowned in his sleep, shifting on the bed and groaning when that must have hurt. "Mr. Stark?"

"You got it in one, Pete."

"'M sorry."

"I'll bet you are." Despite his words, Tony's voice was soft in a way Clint had never heard, a tiny, relieved smile appearing. "Stab wounds are usually exactly as much fun as they sound."

"Other guy...fast. Enhanced. Like me." Peter's sentences came out as fragments but Tony still nodded, hand moving from the boy's hair to his shoulder.

"That's alright, Underoos. You can't win 'em all. How about we head up to the Compound, huh? Get you looked at by a doctor that didn't get all of his medical training before 1950?"

"Sam isn't old," Peter murmured, flinging when Tony eased him into a sitting position.

"Ah. Well, I have to concede that point, Spiderling." Tony didn't seem to be all that focused on his words. Instead, he was holding Peter's shoulder, trying to keep him from falling, and Clint stepped in, holding his other shoulder.

"I got him." For a moment, Stark went stiff, his stance protective, but after a second he nodded and stepped away, letting Clint take Peter's weight as he stepped back into his suit.

"Mr. Stark?" Peter asked, blinking and seeming a little more awake as he leaned against Clint. "Do we have to tell May?"

"Oh, do we have to tell your guardian and aunt that not only were you stabbed, but also that you messed with the suit again and disabled the tracker that would let me know that you were bleeding out in an alley? Um...yes. Yes we do." Peter sighed, and Tony stepped forward, now in the suit, to gently place one arm around his shoulders and the other under his knees. "But," he said, speaking over the soft gasp Peter gave, his hands clutching the arm of the suit so tightly that the metal almost gave. Clint moved in to help, easing the oxygen mask from his face so that it didn't get tangled. "Maybe we can wait until we've got you settled into the medbay and on the good drugs, huh? You know May can't get too upset with you when you're high."

Peter dropped his head against the shoulder of Tony's suit, and before the mask came down to cover the man's face, Clint caught the look. The look he'd felt on his own face countless times. The look he had given Lila when she'd fallen out of a tree and cried for him, burying her face into his shirt. The look he had given Cooper when he had been scared of the clowns at the circus, throwing his arms around Clint and eventually falling asleep in his lap. The look of a dad looking down at his kid with equal parts worry and fondness.

Then the Iron Man Mask was looking up at Clint, and Tony spoke in his slightly robotic voice. "Thanks for looking out for him, Barton. I owe you one."

Clint wanted to ask. He wanted to find out exactly who this kid was to Tony, and if he actually was Tony's secret lovechild. But, when it came down to it, the kid was hurt and Tony was worried and Clint didn't want to hold him up. Besides, he already knew everything he needed to. "Anytime. Hope you feel better kid."

The boy gave him a shaky smile, and Tony nodded, turning and carrying the boy out of the warehouse, and Clint wondered if Nat would give him a ride back to his favorite hot dog vendor.


	24. Who I Am To You

**Prompt: The Avengers comfort Peter when Tony is hurt.**

Peter had never seen Tony Stark hurt before.

Well, no, that wasn't quite true. When they'd met, the man had had a faint bruise around his eye. May hadn't seemed to notice, or if she had, she hadn't said anything, and Peter hadn't wanted to be rude. Not to mention the fact that he hadn't really known Mr. Stark yet, and hadn't really thought it was his place to say anything. Then, when he'd returned with Peter after the airport fight in Germany, he'd held himself stiffly, wincing every once in a while when he'd bent his arm or shifted in his seat. And once again, Peter had been silent about it. Hadn't wanted to call attention to it when they obviously weren't there yet.

And then he'd been outright told that they weren't there yet, and, fighting his rising embarrassment, Peter had fled.

Since the fight with the Vulture during his homecoming dance, things had gotten better Mr. Stark and Peter. It had started with Mr. Stark having him over to the Compound once a month for suit upgrades or repairs, or to reinstall his parachute after he'd accidentally set it off while trying to jump off of the Empire State Building, which had been great until the parachute had deployed. Then, after four months of that, Peter had gotten hurt.

Not dying hurt, to be clear. But the bullet had gone through his thigh and he'd found himself laid on out a rooftop in a growing pile of blood. And...okay, he was embarrassed to admit it, but he'd freaked out. He hated to remember that night...hated to remember Mr. Stark's voice demanding to know if Karen was screwing with him, and then his own voice, choked with tears and barely more than a whimper.

"Mr. Stark? It hurts...please...I can't get up…"

Immediately, the man's voice had softened. "Okay...hey, just...hold on, Underoos. I'm on my way, okay? You're fine. You're...you're fine."

Peter had tried to believe him. Had struggled to stay awake as Mr. Stark had continued to talk to him in that same soft, low voice for the full ten minutes that it had taken him to fly there. Peter didn't remember much after that, but he thought he must have said something. Must have talked to the man as he'd wrapped a belt around his upper leg in a makeshift tourniquet and then scooped him up to carry him back to the compound.

That's when Mr. Stark had changed. Peter had no idea why...wasn't sure if he'd said something, or if maybe his injury had been worse than he'd first assumed. Because when Peter had woken up, Mr. Stark had been there, face pale and drawn, something like fear in his eyes. "Pete? Kid, you with me?"

When Peter had assured him that he was, Mr. Stark had reached out, gripping his hand in a grip that would have been crushing had Peter not been enhanced. "How long have I been out?"

"Two days," Mr. Stark had informed him in a near whisper, glancing over at something on the other side of the room. Peter had followed his eyes and had found May laying in a recliner, a blanket pulled up to her chest. "Helen Cho has been looking after you. Her team had to do surgery to get the bullet out...you're on bedrest for a few more days. But, she said you were probably going to survive." He had said that last part with a tiny smirk that hadn't quite met his eyes.

After that, Mr. Stark had been...well, not just nicer. But...he'd been around more. More available. He'd texted Peter regularly, even video chatting sometimes. He'd invited Peter to stay the night at the compound a few times, letting him know that he was always welcome to use his room, and that yes, he did have a room there. And when the Rogue Avengers had been pardoned and several of them had moved back in, Tony had introduced him to them with an arm around his shoulders, holding him close.

In all that time, Peter had never seen Tony Stark truly injured. He'd seen him sick with a cold one day when he'd come to the Compound after school, and had found Sam Wilson forcing a bottle of cold medicine on him that Mr. Stark had been doing his best to swat away despite looking like death warmed over. Peter had offered to make him them smoothies, and Mr. Stark had accepted with a soft, fond smile, laying back on one of the sofa cushions.

Sam Wilson had laughed under his breath as Peter had poured a full serving of cough syrup into the berry smoothie, then adding extra yogurt to try and cover the taste. Then Peter had taken it to him, perching on the sofa and trying to look contrite. "Mr. Stark...my head's really killing me. Do you mind if we stay up here for a little while before we go down to the lab?"

The man had immediately nodded, reaching out with a hot hand and trying to take Peter's temperature. "Sure, kiddo. You don't feel hot."

"That's because you have a fever," Sam had muttered from the kitchen, taking a drink of his own smoothie which Peter had made him in the jumbo blender.

"Yeah, I'm sure I'll feel better after a few minutes. Can we just watch a movie or something?" Mr. Stark had nodded, gesturing to the TV.

"Sure thing, Pete. Fri, turn the lights down, would you? And play whatever episode of Star Trek we left off on."

Mr. Stark had been asleep in eight minutes, and Sam had given him an approving nod. "Not bad, kid," he'd whispered with a grin. "You want to come down and join us for some training? I'll bet I could get Steve and Nat to join in."

Peter absolutely had. And so, after gently placing a blanket over Mr. Stark and asking Friday to turn off the TV and the lights, he had. Over the next few weeks, during which he'd joined the Avengers for training several more times, Peter had started to find himself more and more comfortable around the former strangers. Once or twice, Steve and Sam had even showed up in the middle of his patrols, lending a hand and signing autographs for starstruck Queens citizens.

Their first mission had been a month before this one, all of them attempting to take down a Hydra base. It had gone well, all things considered, with scrapes and bruises their most serious injuries. And it had even been kind of fun. So when Steve had invited him to come along again, Peter had been excited. Never in his wildest dreams had Peter imagined that Mr. Stark could be hurt.

The Hydra man had gotten Peter with a knife stuck in his boot. He'd been fighting three of them at once, and the knife had swiped him in the side. Peter had barely felt the injury in the moment, instead focusing on webbing the rest of them up. Only after, when Steve was asking if everyone was okay on the comms and Mr. Stark was approaching Peter, his helmet flipping up, eyes on his side, had Peter felt the white-hot pain. Grimacing, he'd pressed a glove covered hand to his side, and the Iron Man suit had opened up, allowing him to step out and reach for Peter. "Woah, kid. That looks kind of deep. Are you…"

Peter's senses hadn't gone off.

The man hadn't been aiming for him.

The sound of the gunshot had been deafening, and Peter had spun around, watching as if in slow motion as the man had shifted the gun, aiming at him this time. And, moving so quickly that he could barely process it himself, he'd shot a web and surged forward, catching Mr. Stark just as the man had crumpled. The bullet had entered his side, right above his hip, and Peter had lowered the man to the floor as carefully as he could, forgetting about his own would and pressing his hand to Mr. Stark's.

Even then, the man had been comforting him. "I'm okay...it's okay, Spidey." He'd groaned, then, and suddenly time had seemed to blur. Sam had been there, and Wanda too, and Steve had been gripping Peter's shoulder, pulling him to his feet and turning him around.

"Spidey? Spider-Man? Look at me, son," Steve had urged, finally catching Peter's attention. He'd looked up from his gloves, which had been covered in blood which slightly stained the already red fabric, meeting Steve's eyes and wondering how long the man had been talking to him.

"Cap...Captain...he…" Peter had started to choke out, tears falling under the mask.

"Hey, take it easy. Tony's fine. He's going to be fine."

Peter had shaken his head. "Steve...it's my fault...he was…"

"No. No way. Not your fault. These things happen. We need to get back to the jet, okay? We need to get Tony back to the medbay."

And somehow, Peter had found himself here. Sitting on the ledge of the compound roof, still wearing the suit and the mask and still crying. Mr. Stark was hurt. The man had looked up at him, eyes wide and stunned and pained, and he'd tried to comfort him. And it was his fault. If he'd been faster...if his senses had just gone off...Peter could have prevented this.

"You need to let me stitch that up." The words startled him, and he spun around, nearly toppling off the ledge as Sam Wilson stared at him with huge, worried eyes. "Pete!"

Peter reached down, sticking his hands to the concrete. "I'm fine." His voice came out shaky and weak, and Steve shook his head.

"No you're not. You're still bleeding. Not to mention you almost just fell off the damn roof. Get off that ledge," he ordered, tone softer than his words as he held out a hand for Peter that he took, letting the man pull him down off the ledge, bracing him when his side gave a furious stab of pain. "Come on, we need to clean that out and get it sewed up."

Peter followed the man down to the elevator, then the medbay where a small room was apparently waiting for him. On the bed was a bag of clothes that Sam picked up and placed onto a chair. "Alright. Suit off and hop up on the bed," he ordered, voice still gentle. Peter obeyed without thinking, pressing a hand against his chest, then ripping off his mask, leaving it all in a pile on the floor.

Sam winced at the mess of blood on his side, giving Peter a hand up, then paused as he looked at his face. "Kid, he's going to be fine. Helen's with him. That's why I'm the one on suture duty."

Peter sniffed, trying to stop crying, and gave a weak, half-hearted nod. Sam sighed, grabbing the suture kit, then soaked a rag with what smelled like alcohol. "Alright. Lay back. This is going to suck, but I'll try to be quick. Okay?"

He nodded, trying to be brave. Trying to stop the tears, but the moment the rag touched his side, Peter's back arched and he gasped, more tears joining the ones from before, and Sam rested a hand on his chest. "I know. Shit kid, do I know. Apparently your metabolism is even weirder than Steve's so none of this medicine is going to make it better, so I'm just going to have to move fast."

As if saying his name had summoned him, Steve Rogers stepped into the room, took one look at Peter, and stationed himself on his other side, pressing a hand against his chest and placing the other one on top of Peter's. "Stitching him up without anesthetic? That's cold, Wilson," he said, voice forcibly light as he squeezed Peter's hand.

"Not my fault you people can't use normal medicine."

"How you holding up, son?" Steve asked as Peter squeezed his hand hard enough to crush a normal person's in response to a needle being shoved into his side.

"This sucks," he choked out, not sure if he was talking about the pain or Mr. Stark getting hurt or being a superhero in general. Regardless, Steve nodded.

"Yeah, don't I know it. One time, when Bucky and I were with the Howling Commandos, this asshole cut the absolute fuck out of me."

"Geez, old man, watch your language around the kid," Sam teased, and Peter managed a weak smile despite the lightheadedness that had started to take over, making his head spin.

Steve just waved him off, quickly replacing the comforting hand on Peter's chest, applying just enough pressure to help him keep still. "As I was saying, we got separated from the rest of the unit and Bucky had to sew me up. So he gave me his belt to bite down on…"

Steve's words were drowned out when Sam hit a particularly tender part of Peter's skin and a cry escaped from his gritted teeth, eyes slamming shut, and the man paused for a fraction of a second before continuing to sew him up. "Almost done, kid."

"He gave me his belt to bite down on and started to stitch me up. The thing is, though, Bucky couldn't sew a straight line to save his life. So I had a crooked scar for two weeks before the damn thing healed up."

"Probably didn't help that you people hadn't figured out how to sterilize a wound yet," Sam muttered, pulling the thread tight."

"I was in World War II, asshole, not the Civil War."

Peter gave a weak laugh that turned into a sob as Sam stabbed him again.

"Alright, that was the last one," Sam murmured, and Peter's body relaxed onto the bed as he cleaned the wound one more time and taped a gauze pad over it. "How's that?" Peter gave a weak nod and Sam patted his shoulder. "You did good, kid. Nothing like when I had to stitch up Clint a few weeks back. He cried way more than you, and he had anesthetic."

Steve chuckled before squeezing Peter's shoulder. "How do you feel, Pete?"

"Fine. How's Tony?"

Sam was the one to answer. "I'll go check, okay? Stay still so you don't pop any of those stitches."

And then Peter was alone with Steve who stood, moving over to the sink and grabbing a rag that he ran under some water before returning and gently wiping Peter's face. It would have been embarrassing if Peter hadn't been so full of anxiety...he saw it every time he closed his eyes, Mr. Stark's face losing color. The blood seeping out from between his own fingers and staining his gloves.

"It wasn't your fault, Peter," Steve repeated as if he could read his mind.

"He was getting out of the suit to check on me."

"Yeah, well, he'd do the same for any of us. We didn't know there were any more soldiers hiding on the base. It was a mistake. That's all."

"My spidey sense didn't go off." It took Peter a moment to realize that he'd never said that phrase out loud, and the look on Steve's face reminded him why. He could feel his cheeks heat up, a dull flush covering his face, but Steve gamely tried to hide his smile.

"Your what?"

"It's like...a sense that tells me when I'm in danger," he muttered.

"But you weren't in danger, Peter. He was."

"I know! But...it still should have gone off!"

"Peter, you can't keep everybody safe all the time. You just can't. Especially not on a mission like this. It's why we all train so much and why we have the comms and why we learn to trust our instincts. This life is dangerous. This job...it isn't always easy."

"But he's my…" Peter cut himself off, dropping his eyes and trying not to cry again.

Steve gripped his hand. "I know he is, Pete. I know." And for a long moment, the two of them sat in silence, hands squeezing one another's, until Sam returned, pushing a wheelchair.

"What…" Peter started, but Sam spoke, cutting him off.

"Tony's awake and asking for you." Peter started to shoot out of bed, but Steve held on to his shoulder. "Ah, ah…" Sam warned. "You're going to get up, slowly and carefully so I don't have to sew you up again, put those sweatpants on, and then you're going to take the wheelchair to his room."

"I don't need…"

"You're going to use the damn wheelchair or Steve is going to sit on you, I swear to god you're just like Tony." The words made Peter smile a little despite himself, a warmth filling his chest. Mr. Stark was okay. He was asking for him!

"But if he sat on me, wouldn't that hurt my side too?"

"Shut up and get in the chair," Sam ordered, pointing a finger, and Peter laughed a little as Steve helped him sit up. Moving carefully, Steve helped him slide off the bed, grabbed the pants for him so that Peter could pull them on over his boxers, then lowered him into the wheelchair, which Peter still felt wasn't necessary, but if this was what he had to do to see Mr. Stark, so be it. Sam wheeled him down the hall, Sam strolling beside him, and then they were in Mr. Stark's room.

The man was laying in a bed just like the one Peter had been stitched up in, a blanket pulled up to his chest, and when Peter entered, his whole body seemed to relax, his face softening. "Hey, Pete. You okay, kiddo?"

Immediately, the warmth in his chest was gone, and Peter felt a hot shame fill him once more as he nodded, dropping his eyes. "Yeah," he whispered, and then, before Mr. Stark could speak again, he blurted out the words he knew he needed to say. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Stark!"

The man blinked at him in confusion, and behind him, Sam sighed and then wheeled him right up to the bed. "Alright. Well, your kid is just like you, Stark, because he's obviously not going to listen to us. Maybe you can talk some sense into him," the man said before ruffling Peter's hair, and then both he and Steve were gone.

"Pete...why are you sorry? You didn't do anything wrong." Mr. Stark's voice was soft and almost hesitant. And totally sincere. Peter looked up at him in confusion.

"You got shot because I…"

"Woah, let me stop you right there." Mr. Stark held up a hand, shaking his head and looking surprisingly stern. "I got shot because I got out of my suit without checking the area first. I assumed that we'd taken them all out and that bit me in the ass. Almost literally. But you did nothing wrong. Okay? Nothing. You did a great job. Webbed up all those guys. Followed orders. All that jazz. You did good. I made a mistake. But I'm fine. And you're fine too. Right?"

"But my senses didn't go off! They should have gone off!"

"Why would your senses go off if you weren't in danger?"

"Because you were! And you're…" Peter trailed off, still not knowing how to say it. Still not knowing the right word. But Mr. Stark's eyes went soft, a gentle smile covering his face as he reached a hand out.

"Come here, Pete," he urged, scooting over just a little with a wince as he captured Peter's hand. The boy stood, moving carefully so as not to tear any of those stitches that Sam had worked so hard on. Mr. Stark lifted the covers, and without stopping to think if they were there yet, Peter lay gingerly beside him, resting his head on the man's shoulder as he wrapped an arm around him. The man took a deep breath, then pressed his lips to Peter's hair. "You did a great job. I'm proud of you. You can't control your weird danger sense, buddy. I'm just glad it tells you when you're in danger."

"Still got stabbed," Peter grumbled, eyes closing now that the adrenaline was fading. His body seemed to know, now that he was wrapped in a blanket and Mr. Stark's arm, that he was safe. That it was okay to rest.

"Yeah, well, you were fighting three guys. You can't win 'em all, kiddo."

"But you can," Peter insisted, because he needed it to be true. He needed Mr. Stark to be able to win them all. Every battle. Every fight. Forever. Beside him, the man chuckled softly.

"Let's hope so. Now how about we get some sleep, huh? When we wake up, we'll order dinner and call your aunt. Sound good?"

Peter nodded, but before he could open his mouth to reply, he was already asleep."


	25. Dazed and Distracted

**Prompt: Peter gets meningitis **

Tony should have known. As he sat in one of the plastic chairs in the medbay, his head in his shaking hands, he cursed himself for not paying attention. For being so absorbed in his own work that he hadn't even noticed that Peter had been acting strange all day, ever since the first moment he'd walked through the door to the compound. It had been obvious if he'd only been paying attention. But he'd had a new Stark Phone to finish and in hindsight, he'd thought that maybe he shouldn't have invited Peter over for that particular weekend...or that he should have postponed. Because Pepper had given him a very firm deadline of Monday morning, and Peter had arrived on Friday night.

"Hey, Pete," he'd greeted, trying not to look as exhausted as he'd felt. Trying to be at least somewhat present. Peter had grinned, dropping his backpack by the sofa in its usual place. And Tony had taken a moment to smile at the fact that Peter's backpack had a usual place. "You want to get some dinner before we head down to the lab?"

Peter had shaken his head. "Nah. I'm not really hungry."

There. That right there. That should have been warning sign number one! Because Peter Parker was always hungry. Not once had that boy come to the compound and not been practically drooling at the suggestion of dinner. But Tony...Tony had been glad. Because Tony had wanted to get down to the lab as soon as possible so that he could get started. So he'd promised himself that they'd work for a few hours and then he would get Peter some dinner and then they could actually hang out. Do something fun. Maybe, he'd thought as he and Peter had headed downstairs, the boy's hand rubbing at the back of his neck, maybe they could go out for ice cream. A late night trip. It would be fun.

And Peter's hand had come up to his neck once more as they'd stepped out of the elevator. And Tony hadn't noticed. Hadn't paid any attention to the fact that Peter had been grimacing and rubbing his neck. Because he'd been focused only on that stupid phone.

Tony had sat down at his usual workspace, knowing that Peter would make his way to his own usual place. And then...time had passed. Time had flown by and Tony had only been focused on his own work. On that phone. That's all he'd been able to do. Focus on that phone, his brain hyper-focused on that phone and the plans and the blueprints. Because he had a deadline and Pepper had covered her face with her hands when she'd found out that he was over a week behind. Because he didn't want to stress her out.

So hours had passed and before he'd known it, it had been past midnight and he'd jerked his head up from his work, staring at his watch in disbelief before turning to Peter. Peter who hadn't eaten in hours and who he'd completely forgotten about. Peter had been sitting at his own desk, head in his hands, drooped over blueprints of his own. And Tony had tried to sound casual and not guilty and horrified at himself.

"Woah, kiddo. It's late. Guess we got wrapped up...in our work…" he'd trailed off, approaching Peter and staring in surprise at the blueprints and the webshooters that, as far as he could tell, had barely been touched. "Pete?"

"Huh?" the boy had asked, looking up with bleary, confused eyes.

Why hadn't Tony asked then? Why hadn't he dragged the boy to the medbay, just to check? Just to make sure that he was okay? Because that wasn't Peter. Not even tired Peter. Not even exhausted Peter! Peter was all sharp eyes shining with intelligence and focus, even when he was exhausted. Even when they had stayed in the lab long past his bedtime.

"Tony?" The question shook him out of his thoughts, and Tony looked up to find Pepper standing in front of him, dressed in a blazer and skirt and high heels, looking as though she'd come straight from the boardroom. He stood, opening his arms, and she held him close. She placed a hand on the back of his head, resting her cheek on his head, the heels giving her several inches on him. "Is he…"

"He's with Helen."

"Has she said anything yet?"

Tony just shook his head and shut his eyes as tightly as he could, willing the tears back. Peter would be fine. He had to be fine. Pepper sat down beside him, clutching his hand and leaning her head on his shoulder as they waited. And waited. Surely, Tony thought, Helen would update him soon.

"You ready to eat something?" That's what Tony had asked. Not 'are you feeling okay' or 'why didn't you get any work done' or 'why do you keep rubbing your neck and closing your eyes and wincing like you're in pain?' No. Instead, Tony had asked if he was hungry.

"Can I just go to bed? I'm really tired."

"Sure, kiddo. Sorry I lost track of time."

And Peter had given him a brief smile, assured him that it was okay, and had gone to bed.

Rhodey was the next to come down to the medbay, dropping into a chair next to Tony and crossing his arms. "Do you know what's wrong with him?"

"No," Tony bit out, not meeting his friend's eyes. And for a moment, Rhodey had been silent. Then, when he'd spoken, his voice had been soft.

"I thought the kid couldn't get sick."

"So did I."

"Well...he's...he's going to be fine...right?"

All Tony could do was nod. Because surely Rhodey was right. He had to be. Peter had to be okay.

The next morning, Tony had gone into Peter's room, surprised that the kid was still in bed after 10. Not that he didn't understand the concept of teenagers and how prone they were to sleeping in. But he also knew Peter, and Peter never slept in. Not at the compound. But even as he'd gone into Peter's room, his mind had been on that phone. On the final problem he needed to solve before it was done. "Hey, kid. You gonna sleep all day?" he'd asked, peering into the dark room. Peter had groaned, and Tony had taken another step into the bedroom. "Pete?"

"Huh?"

"It's almost eleven. Aren't you starving?" he'd asked, voice light.

Peter had sat up then, rubbing a hand over his head and grimacing, and finally, finally Tony had asked. "Pete? You good?"

"Oh...uh, yeah. I'm fine."

And like an idiot, Tony had believed him. Had urged him to get up and eat something.

Peter had followed him into the kitchen for breakfast, flinching at the bright light and picking at his waffles. "When you're done eating, you want to head back down to the lab?"

The kid had hesitated, staring down at his food for a moment before speaking. "I, uh...actually, my head kind of hurts. Would it be okay if I laid down for a minute?"

Reaching out, Tony had pressed his hand to Peter's forehead, only to find it a little warm. And that's when the idea had come to him. "Yeah, Pete. Of course I've got a thing I need to finish up real quick down in the lab. You mind if I run down and get that wrapped up while you lay down? Then the rest of the day, I'm all yours."

And of course, Peter had nodded. Had smiled and assured Tony that he would be fine on his own. And, after handing the kid a bottle of his super pain pills. Tony had gone back downstairs to his stupid fucking phone.

It had been an hour later that he'd come upstairs. He'd worked as quickly as he could, focusing only on the phone and pushing all thoughts of Peter from his mind, even the nagging thoughts that Peter had been kind of pale...that he'd been quiet since arriving at the compound. That he'd looked almost sick that morning. Those thoughts had all been shoved away while Tony had worked and then finally, finally, it had been done.

Tony had hurried back to the penthouse, looking around the kitchen only to find the plate of half-eaten waffles still on the table next to the bottle of pills. Frowning, he'd looked around once more, but hadn't been able to find Peter. "Kid?" he'd called. He hadn't been angry...just confused. Peter never left dirty dishes laying around. Never. At least, not at the compound. "Fri, where's Peter?"

"Peter went to the bathroom thirty minutes ago and has not returned."

"What?" That's when the alarm had gone off...when his brain had started putting together the pieces that he'd been too busy to actually take note of. How quiet Peter had been. How he hadn't been hungry. How he hadn't gotten any work done. The headache. All of it had started to come together in a picture that made Tony feel sick to his stomach. "What didn't you tell me?"

"You initiated the Do Not Disturb protocol yesterday before Peter arrived and have not disabled it."

"Disable it!" Tony had snapped, racing toward the hall bathroom. "Forever! That protocol doesn't apply to Peter! Peter?" he had called, wrapping his knuckles against the door. "You okay?" There hadn't been an answer, and he'd pounded on the door again. "Peter!" Nothing. "Friday, unlock this door!"

Silently, the AI had done as he'd ordered, and the door had unlocked with a soft click, Tony being sure to open it carefully, and when he saw Peter, he was glad. The boy was on the ground, head resting on the wall, eyes hazy and unfocused as Tony dropped to his knees beside him.

"Pete? Hey, look at me!" he'd urged, touching his chin and tilting Peter's head so that he faced him. "Peter?"

"Ben?" The word had shocked Tony, as if he'd been doused in a tub full of cold water. And then Peter had blinked from his place on the bathroom floor, narrowing his eyes. "Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah, buddy. What are you doing on the floor? I can't remember the last time I mopped in here."

He was babbling. He mopped this floor every week. Pepper cleaned the kitchen, he cleaned the bathroom. And Peter knew that because he'd been over on chore day, and he'd offered to chip in, running the vacuum and dusting the living room.

"I...I don't know. My head hurts...Mr. Stark...and my neck...I feel weird…"

"Okay...okay, well, how about we get you off the floor and figure out what's wrong, huh?" Tony had forced his voice to stay light and casual while his chest had felt like it was caving in. He had put an arm around Peter when he'd seen it...a red smear on the wall. "Did...Pete, did you fall?"

"I don't know," the boy had murmured, eyes drifting shut, and Tony had moved fast, slipping an arm around Peter's shoulder and wincing at the heat coming off of him. He had also been making a mental note to reprogram Friday when it came to Peter.

Tony had helped the boy half stumble back into the living room, setting him down on the sofa. "Alright, how about I grab you that super-Advil and…"

And then the boy had been falling, slamming into the floor before Tony could catch him, eyes rolling back, limbs jerking, and although Tony's mind had been blank, his body had lunged to catch the boy, getting him onto his side while staring, open-mouthed as the seizing child on the ground jerked and grunted. "Okay…" he had whispered, voice hoarse. "Pete, you're...you're okay. I'm right here. Just…hold on, buddy. Um...Friday! Friday, get Helen. Send his stats. Time the seizure." He had barked ordered, barely aware of what he was saying as the boy had continued to seize on the ground.

Helen had arrived only minutes later as Peter had started to still, eyes still shut. "I'm here. Buddy, I'm right here. I've got you." Those had been Tony's last words to Peter before a nurse had lifted him onto a gurney, careful of his head, and Helen had had him wheeled away.

"Tony?" Helen's voice brought him back to the present once more, and he stared at her unseeing for a moment before Pepper squeezed his hand.

"Is he okay?"

"I did a blood test and spinal tap...it took two tries. He's dehydrated. But we got the results back. Bacterial meningitis."

"How...how would he have…" Tony started, but Helen kept talking.

"I believe his body was fighting off a case of strep and the bacteria spread. I have him on antibiotics and fluids. We've got him set up in a bed if you want to see him."

Tony nodded. "Yeah...yeah. I...Pep, can you...I didn't call his aunt yet and…"

"I'll call May. Happy can pick her up and bring her over." She squeezed his hand, and Rhodey stood as well, patting him on the shoulder.

"I'll get the kid some clothes from his room."

"Thanks platypus."

Peter was laying in a white hospital bed, a sheet and a blanket pulled up to his chest, a tube disappearing into his arm. Tony didn't hesitate, taking the chair by the kid's side and resting a hand on his forehead. Much cooler, but not quite normal yet. "Hey, bud. So...uh...turns out you can get sick like the rest of us mere mortals. Sucks, huh." Peter didn't answer, but Tony wasn't in any rush. He had all night to spend with his kid.

After all, he thought wryly, the phone was done.


End file.
